


Between Three Points

by eatjamfast



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Shklance, Explicit Sexual Content, Ghost Keith (Voltron), Haunting, M/M, Magic, Multi, Necromancy, POV Shiro (Voltron), Possession, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Witch Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:17:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatjamfast/pseuds/eatjamfast
Summary: "Shiro had never put much stock in superstition, being a man of science and hard evidence. But he wasn't an idiot. Keith had made him sit through enough of those ridiculous ghost hunting shows for him to realise he should probably try to do something about his... problem before it got any worse."Shiro is thrown headfirst into a world he didn't know existed, and finds out he's in the centre of a war he never wanted to fight for.





	1. You'll get over it, Mr Shirogane

**Author's Note:**

> Spooky goings-on will ensue.  
> We have GHOSTS we have WITCHES we have uh my first attempt at a bigger multi-chapter fic which is scary enough in itself  
> if you enjoy, please consider leaving kudos/ a comment! :-) this is super different from what I usually put out, so I'd appreciate hearing if you liked it!  
> You can find me at [my tumblr](eatjamfast.tumblr.com/) xxx
> 
>  **warnings in this chapter for decriptions of a dead body** (I hope the tags are a comfort here because character the dead body belongs to doesn't exactly stay very dead)

 

“ _Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.” - Rumi_

 

In the grand scheme of things, five months isn't a very long time at all.

Not even half a year.

There had been times in life that everything moved so fast it was impossible to even remember to turn the page on the calendar. That had happened to Takashi Shirogane multiple times. Where he'd been caught in the whirlwind of his corporate bullshit he barely had a second to keep track of such a simple task like flipping over some paper that was representative of something as crucial to humans as _time_.

It was only now, after everything that had happened, Shiro regretted not taking the time out of his stupid engagements to appreciate the little things in life. It tore him up inside, when he was already in tatters to begin with. He didn't know how much more of that he could take – the guilt. The _grief_. He felt like he was stuck in an endless cycle of thinking about things he would have done differently, things he could have changed or even prevented if he wasn't so obsessed with his success, his work.

Because during those times, _he_ wasn't the one who was remembering to flip that page over.

Now it had been five months since he last touched the calendar.

Shiro knew it had been _exactly_ five months because Keith had grumbled that he couldn't believe it was already March, his brow had been furrowed as he stared at that little square numbered “1” grumpily.

“What did our stationary ever to do you?” Shiro had joked as he knotted the tie around his neck, skidding a little on the tiles as he made his way to the door. Keith had stuck his tongue out, chivvying him out the house with a loud sigh.

“Thought you knew,” Keith had said melodramatically, “Killed my whole family. Dog and all. But enough of my tragic backstory – if you don't kick ass at this meeting I won't let you near the coffee pot for a _week_.”

Shiro had laughed, clutching his heart. “You wound me, Mr Shirogane.”

“You'll get over it, Mr Shirogane,” Keith had replied dryly, before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and then promptly slamming the door in his face.

_You'll get over it, Mr Shirogane._

Ironic, that those were the last words he'd ever hear from his husband.

July 1st stared at him innocently from the screen on his phone, and he threw it across the room with a grunt.

Fuck July 1st.

Fuck every day since March 1st.

They had been tortuous; the weeks slowing down into days, then the days into hours, minutes, and finally all Shiro was left with were long, painful seconds that he felt the weight of every time the clock ticked.

_You'll get over it, Mr Shirogane._

Keith's words echoed in his mind, and he made a pained noise, looking at the portrait where it sat next to his mother's in the butsudan.

“Will I?” he whispered.

Shiro moved to light the incense, pausing as he looked at the selection. He'd run out of lavender. That was Keith's favourite. Which meant he would have to leave the house to buy more. Great.

Grimacing, he chose jasmine as second-best. It would have to do.

_Sorry,_ he thought in an apology before bowing his head, shoulders shaking.

_You'll get over it, Mr Shirogane._

Shiro didn't think he would. He didn't think he could _ever_ get over bursting into their home that evening with a beatific smile for his success, words of excitement catching in his throat as he slipped and fell, feet swept out from underneath him as he landed in blood, only for the first thought in his mind to be that Keith would complain about the stains in those grey tweed trousers they'd picked out together just a week before.

He didn't think he would get over the memory of the _smell_ , the marks he still couldn't scrub out of the cracks in the kitchen tiles, the way his entire body had run cold the instant he realised what had happened, or the way the love of his life didn't say anything back even when he _begged_ him to.

There was no coming back from witnessing the aftermath of pure, unadulterated _violence_.

Shiro was one of the few unlucky people in this world who had seen an awful lot of violence in his life. Having served in the military for seven years, he had seen it on his own body when he watched his arm dangle lifelessly from his shoulder, wanting nothing more than to pass out but unconsciousness never finding him and agony wrecking his body. He had seen it on the bodies of his friends, too.

Shiro was no stranger to violence, not even a stranger to _death._

What he _was_ a stranger to, was seeing that much blood with nothing to validate why it should have been there. No hatred, no passion, no vindication, no motive _whatsoever_.

That was what he had lost Keith to.

He lost him to _nothingness_.

Shiro gritted his teeth in frustration, wishing that those thoughts hadn't become a daily routine for him as he lit the intense and little tea lights on the shelf. He both feared and craved the day he could grieve his loved ones with a sad smile; acknowledging the mark they had left on him, and thinking on them with fondness.

Shaking his head at himself, he took a grounding breath before turning towards the counter. He needed to stick to the routine he'd set himself, try to get back into the swing of some kind of normalcy because he didn't want to _imagine_ the profanities Keith would be shouting at him if he saw him as he was in that moment.

_You'll get over it, Mr Shirogane._

It had become something of a mantra now, and he nodded. He would. He had to.

He pulled two cups down from the mug tree, boiled the kettle and went about scooping coffee into the pot.

As the water heated, he stared at the cup on the left, tight lipped. It was probably the most hideous piece of crockery they owned; an eye-watering shade of pink with the words 'Smile to the Sky' written on it under a lucky cat cartoon. Keith had bought it when they'd gone to visit Shiro's family in Japan, and had laughed for a good few minutes at the absurdity of it before slamming it down on the counter and buying it. Shiro had hated that mug. Now, it was one of the few things he had left of Keith's to treasure.

Every morning, he set it down in front of the altar, because he didn't think there was a more apt offering for his spouse than a fresh cup of coffee. Besides, Keith had never really liked rice cakes.

The kettle whistled, and Shiro turned to it, ready to pour the water when there was an ear-splitting crash behind him.

Breathing hard, Shiro flattened himself against the counter, and he stared at the mess of china in front of him.

Shit like that had been happening with increasing frequency over the past few months. Inanimate objects were being flung from shelves and tables, either for Shiro to watch as they broke, or for him to enter the room and see the aftermath of it. Worst of all, it was always _Keith's_ belongings.

Coffee forgotten, he heaved a sigh and picked up the largest shards, trying to keep his mind as blank possible. It wouldn't do to get upset about it, because every time he did the situation seemed to get worse. So he swept up the mess clinically, trying to distance himself from the loss he felt every time another one of Keith's possessions had to be picked up in pieces and thrown away.

At first, Shiro had been convinced that he was going out of his fucking mind. There was no way in hell, heaven or earth that what was happening could be real, right? Naturally, he kept the strange events to himself because he didn't think he could handle being shoved into a room with hushed doctors for a psych eval alongside trying to grieve his dead spouse.

All thoughts of his sanity slipping away were left behind when Matt had visited a month ago.

Pidge had been at a lecture that day, but sent her regards along with a ridiculously oversized home-baked lasagne. The two men had sat in the living room, Shiro quaking with the force of his sobs as Matt placed a comforting hand on his back. They had both jumped in shock when the loud sound of something clattering to the floor with a bang in the next room along.

When they had both dashed into the kitchen to seek out the noise, they found Keith's old skateboard upside down in the middle of the room. Shiro had bit his lip, trying to shrug it off when Matt looked at him with a worried expression as he gently picked it up, handing it to him.

He'd wedged that stupid thing very securely at the top of the kitchen cabinet not a week before, just wanting it out of the way for a while because he had kept stubbing his toe on it.

Shiro poured his coffee, before pulling down another mug and making one for Keith, too. He took a long sip of his own drink as he placed the steaming mug in the butsudan next to his mother's rice cakes.

“Good morning, darling,” he murmured, reaching out to touch the photograph of Keith gently. He looked to the picture of his mother with a warm smile. “ _Ohayou, Mama._ ”

Moving to lean against the counter, Shiro rubbed a tired hand over his face. So. Yeah. He knew he wasn't going crazy. Something was in his house and it was fucking with him, trying to destroy any physical memories of Keith he had left, and he'd just about had _enough_ of it.

Shiro – although his mother had raised him Buddhist and he still adhered to his culture in some aspects of life – had never put much stock in superstition, being a man of science and hard evidence. But he wasn't an idiot. Keith had made him sit through enough of those ridiculous ghost hunting shows for him to realise he should probably try to do something about his... _problem_ before it got any worse.

Luckily for Shiro, he had been in a relationship with a man who was wholeheartedly obsessed with the supernatural since he was seventeen years old, so he had a vague idea of how to handle the situation.

He vaguely remembered Keith telling him to never go near oujia boards, or exorcists. Didn't he say something about smudge sticks, too? Nodding to himself, he shamefully went to retrieve his phone from where it lay miraculously undamaged next to the balcony doors.

Smudge sticks sounded like they might be something he could use. He was already pretty well-versed in intense sticks so they couldn't be that different, he reassured himself.

Opening his phone, he pulled up directions to his nearest spiritualist shop with a grimace.

_I hope this works_ , he thought to himself.

 

**

It was an offensively sunny day, Shiro observed as he trudged down Arus' high street.

People wandered around with huge, cheerful smiles and reddened shoulders, arms laden with shopping bags. He kept his head down, wrapping his own arms around himself because if he saw one more love-struck couple looking at each other with stars in their eyes he might actually cry. He was beginning to think it had been a mistake to leave the house, he should have known that it would have been too busy the second he opened the curtain and was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the sky.

Immense relief flooded over over him as the maps app on his phone directed him down a side street through his headphones. It lead him through a darkened ginnel before he was confronted with a shop at the end of it. His lips pulled down into a frown, because this was not the sort of place he'd expect to find a reputable business. The cobblestoned courtyard it was in was pretty, though, a far cry from the stench of piss and oily smears of bird shit in the street behind him.

Flowers in brightly painted pots lined the windows. The front of the building was a delicate shade of blue with yellow and pink swirls hand-painted directly onto the bricks. He could have mistaken it for a country cottage if it weren't for the swing-sign hanging above the door reading 'Castlegate Magic Shop' and a flickering neon blue sign in the window proclaiming the residents to be 'True Psychics'.

When Shiro reached for the heavy golden handle, he found the door didn't budge.

He glanced at the opening times, and they matched with the ones he had found on his phone. Knocking on the door gently, he peered through the fogged glass curiously.

“Hello? Are you open?” he knocked on the door again, harder this time, tilting his head to try to discern any sounds of movement from within the shop.

He almost fell through the doorway when a shockingly beautiful woman opened the door.

Shiro stared up at her, jaw slack as she appraised him with liquid blue eyes. Willowy slim, she towered above him and he could tell that she would still be taller than him even if she wasn't wearing those insanely high heels. She wore a blue sundress, and her shock of white hair tumbled down her back in elegant waves. Her dark skin seemed to radiate... _something_ , almost like it was glowing from the inside out.

_Maybe she's actually a witch,_ Shiro joked to himself.

He cleared his throat and smiled politely. “Hi, sorry. I looked you guys up and it said you... were open...” His voice trailed off when he saw the hard stare she was giving him.

Clearing his throat, he tried again, “I was hoping you had some – ”

“No.”

“E – excuse me?”

“No,” she repeated, firmer this time and Shiro took a hesitant step forward before yelping in shock. She had pulled a handful of white powder from her pocket and promptly threw it at him with a grimace.

His mouth flapped open uselessly in surprise, and he tasted... salt? She'd thrown _salt_ at him!

“What?” he sputtered, brushing off his clothes angrily. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

“What's wrong with me?” the woman barked, her eyes narrowing, lips twisted into a snarl. “Don't you ever come back here with that bad shit,” she waved her hands around.

“You just gestured to all of me!”

“Not here. Not in my house. Never again!”

The door was thrown shut with a deafening slam, leaving Shiro swaying slightly where he stood from the force of it.

_Had she even touched the door to shut it?_

Surprise quickly gave way to realisation, and he pounded his fist on the door again, hope sinking its claws into him. She said something was _on_ him – which meant she could probably help with whatever was in his house. Besides, if the sign proclaiming her to be a 'true psychic' had any mettle behind it, then she'd be a damn sight better than a measly smudge stick. But if he didn't play his cards right he wasn't even sure he'd be able to get the _herbs_ from her.

“Hey!” He yelled. “Hey, do you _know_ something?”

Shiro heard her shout, “Go _away_ ,” before her footsteps retreated.

“Please, _please_ , just tell me what you meant! Is there something wrong with me?” he cried out, pressing his forehead against the door.

He almost fell straight over again when it swung open once more, and this time it was a _ridiculously_ good-looking man stood in front of him. He looked down at Shiro with wide, impossibly blue eyes, blinking in shock. He was wearing a crisp white t-shirt with a pair of high-waisted jeans, long cords attached to heavy chunks of crystals and rocks were looped around his neck, and a thin gold ring glinted on the left of his nose. Shiro blinked up at him, surprised. This guy looked even less likely to run a magic shop than the woman did. His entire outfit probably cost more than Shiro's monthly rent.

In the impish turn-up of his nose and thin twist to his lips, he could see they were related somehow. The woman from before had darker skin, where this guy had darker hair, and she had been slightly taller and broader but the resemblance was definitely there.

“Jesus Christ,” the guy groaned, giving Shiro a stern once-over. “ _Allura_! We have a crying man on our doorstep.”

Shiro shot him a glare. “I'm not crying.”

“ _Sure_ you aren't, mate,” he smiled at him pityingly.

“Lance, I swear to god, shut that door right now!” The woman – Allura – yelled, stomping to where they were both stood. “He's got a bad attachment and I don't want that _near_ us.”

Lance stared at Shiro, considering, before opening the door wider despite Allura's half-hearted protests. “Just light some sage or something, 'Lura. I'm letting him in.”

Allura made a scathing noise, chuntering under her breath as she stalked onto the shop floor, her white hair flowing behind her. She picked up a bundle of pale green leaves, wrapped together with twine, and must have used some kind of fancy-ass lighter because there was a flash of blue heat then suddenly the herbs were smoking.

“You're naïve to think sage can fix whatever he's bringing in with him,” Allura said, jabbing an accusing finger at Shiro as he entered the shop awkwardly. Now that he was in there, he didn't know quite what to do with himself. A snide little voice in the back of his mind whispered to him that it was a bad idea, coming here, and that he should have just weathered it out at home.

“What I _think_ is that we'll cross the bridge when we get to it,” Lance said. “We're supposed to be here to help. You can't just turn down every person whose energy you don't like,” he rationalised. Shiro watched the exchange curiously. He got the sense that Allura wasn't used to being chided by Lance, and that it was probably more normal for the tables to be turned. He could see her falling into an authoritative role quite naturally, but wouldn't have guessed the same for Lance.

Begrudgingly, Allura nodded, pulling back a curtain of shockingly blue beads that hung behind the counter. She jerked her chin, which Shiro took as permission to head on into the back. He eyed her up nervously before he passed her.

“You're not going to throw more salt on me, are you?”

“You threw salt on him?” Lance said, looking at her askance as he chivvied Shiro into the back.

“Oh, don't start,” Allura hissed, following after them.

The back room was a far cry from the store front, which had been about as much as Shiro had expected for a spiritual retailer, filled with Eastern Asian tapestries, dream catchers and the overpowering smell of sandalwood.

This large studio was surprisingly clean and well-organised, completely at odds with the cluttered shelves of the shop in the next room over. Herbs and strange liquids were lined up neatly in mason jars that looked like they belonged on a Pinterest board more than they belonged in a magic shop. The whole room was painted a stark white, with duck-egg blue accents on the skirting boards. Warm lighting emanating from the each of the room's corners made it feel cosy despite how clinically pristine the whole place was.

Allura offered Shiro a seat on an expensive-looking white leather sofa in front of the spotless glass coffee table. He was kind of surprised she hadn't made him sit on a plastic bag, with the way she looked at him with a curled upper lip.

“Tea?” she asked.

“Please,” Shiro nodded mostly out of politeness. His mother had raised him to accept hospitality even when it came from the most disagreeable of people.

Lance sat down on one of the stools opposite him, beautiful ornate things that looked incredibly expensive. They, too, were painted an immaculate white. He was growing increasingly worried about the mud on his shoes. Lance rocked back and forth on his seat, and the legs creaked under the strain of it. Shiro gulped.

“What's your name?” Lance asked.

“Takashi. But Shiro is fine,” Shiro answered, and Lance nodded. He didn't make any attempts to introduce himself, or Allura.

“Allura was right,” Lance said after a beat. “You do have something bad on you. _El diablo_.”

“I – I think so, too,” Shiro said softly. He remembered enough from secondary school Spanish lessons to know what Lance had just said. It wasn't comforting in the least.

Lance tilted his head at him with pursed lips before something seemed to click in his head and he sat up straighter.

“No... no... they're two different things,” he murmured, nodding to himself. “There's something else.”

Shiro baulked. “There's more than one thing?”

Lance nodded seriously. “Allura is sensitive to... energy. Feelings. She tends to overlook the full picture.”

“And you don't?”

The man in front of him smiled, but it was an unsettling thing. “Not to toot my own trumpet or anything, but, yeah. Basically.”

“You seem like the kind of person who has zero issues bragging about yourself,” Shiro said smoothly, trying to relieve some of the tension. That's when he knew he was feeling stressed. He tried to make _jokes_.

“Woah,” Lance gasped dramatically. “Are _you_ a psychic?”

It occurred to Shiro, then, that this whole scenario was slightly out of his control. He was concerned, in the back of his mind, that he was allowing himself to be swept along in all this mumbo-jumbo because he was certainly not at his most stable.

Allura swept back into the room, distracting him from his thoughts momentarily. She moved far too quickly for someone who was carrying a heavily laden tea tray, and Shiro added 'terrifying poise' to reasons Allura intimidated him.

“My cousin may be a narcissistic twat, but he has good reason to be.” Allura said as she set the tea down on the table. It smelled strongly of lemon. She poured it carefully, and he pretended not to be bothered by the fact she wasn't using a strainer, letting clumps of tea leaves swirl around in the cup before settling at the bottom.

He took the dainty teacup she offered him with a quiet, “Thank you”, taking a polite sip as she watched him with beady eyes, like she was waiting for something.

“Something bad happened to you recently,” said Lance, out of nowhere, and Shiro almost spat out his tea.

“I didn't know that,” Allura said with a frown. “All I'm getting is the – ”

“My husband died. A few months ago.” Shiro blurted, and the pair fell silent with wide eyes. Allura even had the good grace to look slightly guilty, while Lance's gaze strangely slid up to the space behind Shiro. He twisted in his seat when Lance continued to stare, only to see nothing.

“Is that you?” Lance asked softly, and Shiro felt like someone had upturned a bucket of ice on his head.

“ _What?_ ” he hissed, turning around again. There was nothing there. Nothing. He stayed staring at the same place Lance's eyes were fixed on. He lowered his voice, hoping that Lance and Allura couldn't hear him as he whispered, “Keith...?”

“It's you, isn't it? You've been here the whole time,” Lance continued, his voice a coaxing lull.

Tears welled up in Shiro's eyes, and he leaned over the back of the sofa desperately, trying to get a sense of anything's presence. Wanted so desperately for there to be a sign that something or someone could be in front of him.

“He's... he's crying,” Lance said slowly, sounding dazed. Shiro spared him a glance, and saw that his eyes were now half-lidded and unfocused. “He's be crying so much, it – it _hurts_.”

Something snapped inside Shiro then, and he stood up so violently the sofa scooted back against his knees, threatening to upturn the damn thing.

“What is this?” he demanded, fists clenched at his sides. “Why would you _say_ that?”

Lance blinked the stars from his eyes, then looked back up at him, shocked.

“I didn't – I didn't mean to – ” he stammered, clearly affected by something but Shiro was too upset to care. He was just about ready to storm away from the pair of them, because this had to be some kind of scam, there was no way – no way –

“Shiro!” Allura said loudly but not unkindly, placing a comforting hand on his prosthetic arm. A good call on her part because if she'd actually touched his skin, he might have decked her. She looked like she thought that was the case, too, by the grim look on her face. “He's just trying to help. He can't control it.”

Shiro let out a huge, shuddering breath and snapped his gaze to Lance.

“Is that true?”

“Kinda,” Lance nodded. “I can't control it sometimes, it's – ”

“No, no,” Shiro said fervently, “I mean... has he been crying? Is it _Keith_?” He hated how his voice hitched on the name, cracking a little.

“I don't know if it's him, I'll have to try to talk to him again. But I'm not going to unless you say I can, okay? You look majorly spooked, man.”

“I want you to,” Shiro said. “B – besides, even if it's not him. Then at least I'll have a lead on ' _el diablo_ ', right?”

“Right,” Lance parroted back uncertainly.

“You have a choice in this, too, _primo_ ,” Allura said. “If you're not comfortable doing this, just say so.”

Shiro wanted offer words of support to Allura, but they never found him. He wanted so desperately to know if there was even the possibility that Keith was still with him, no matter how cruel or wrong it was. He didn't want to say anything that would prevent Lance from providing that for him. It was selfish, but in that moment Shiro couldn't bring himself to care.

Lance nodded, breath whooshing out of him, and then he nodded again.

“It's okay. I'll do it. Like I said, right? We're here to help people. No point in keeping all this to myself if it can help you,” he said, smiling at Shiro. His heart twisted, and he wasn't quite sure why.

After a few minutes of the three of them sat in a pregnant silence, Lance's entire body went lax and he slipped back into the eerie expression he'd had before. His voice took took on a strange cadence when he began speaking, and for some reason a part of Shiro's mind sparked up in recognition.

“Keith?” Lance breathed, “You're Keith, aren't you?”

A moment passed and Lance's face broke out in a smile, but he didn't look away from the point above Shiro's shoulder.

“Hi, I guess it's been a while since you've spoken to anyone, huh?” he said it politely enough, but after a pause he grimaced. “Alright, mate, no need to be _rude._ I'm just trying to help.”

Shiro couldn't help the laugh the bubbled up out of his chest, mildly hysterical. There was no doubt in his mind the presence behind him was Keith if it elicited a reaction like _that_. The laugh quickly tapered off into a broken noise, and he clasped a hand to his mouth to stifle it, because he knew that sound seemed to go hand-in-hand with him ending up in tears lately. Shoulders shuddering, he stared at Lance like he was his lifeline. In many ways, he _was_.

Shiro had not taken Keith's death well. At all. And despite the efforts of his friends and family, he had yet to properly reach out for help or even reach a point where he might consider trying to move past his loss.

Now, though. _Now_? He was wholeheartedly glad he hadn't. He couldn't imagine how he would feel right now if he had been in the process of mourning Keith properly, because once Shiro had a goal set he was single-minded in its pursuit, so he absolutely would not have been receptive to the idea of being followed around by his dead husband's _ghost_.

The mere idea that Keith was still with him, had been there with him the entire time, sent a soul-destroying hope thundering through him.

“He was trying to tell you something, Shiro,” Lance said after another pause. “What was it? Tell me,” he tilted his head, as though straining for words neither Shiro nor Allura could hear. “No, Jesus, you're so bitchy – uh, sorry... No! Don't worry, I'll tell him that, too.”

“What?” Shiro pressed, leaning forwards. “Tell me what?”

“' _I love you, I'm sorry I left_ ',” said Lance, and although his voice was his own there was an uncanny lilt to it that reminded him intensely of Keith's. Shiro started crying, then. “' _I've been here, baby, I've been here for you. I never left you, Takashi. I'm so sorry_.'”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Shiro choked out, “I should have known it was you. You don't need to apologise for _anything_.”

His heart was breaking. It was _breaking_.

Shiro looked over to Allura, whose eyes were glassy like she wanted to cry but was holding herself back. She offered him a tremulous smile, and then looked at Lance in concern when he flinched hard. They both watched with bated breath.

“Don't do that!” Lance reprimanded. “Yeah, man. I know you wanna talk to him – no, I'm not! Possession tires me out, dude, and if you wanna tell him what you're... _wow_ , was not expecting that... that's kind of fucked... I'm not sure if I – yeah. It's okay, I get why you'd be emotional but you can't tell someone like _me_ that and not expect – _fine_.”

Shiro felt like he was listening in on a phone conversation. It was incredible and fucking _weird_ to watch Lance speak so animatedly but have such a sleepy expression.

Lance inhaled sharply. “What? What do you mean? That's _impossible_.”

Allura looked up in alarm at the way Lance tensed, and she turned to assess him, tracing her hands over him without touching his body. She relaxed just a little, but moved closer to her cousin nonetheless.

“Is he okay?” Shiro whispered, unwilling to disconnect himself from his conversation, but guilt getting the better of him.

“He is. I was just checking,” she said defensively.

Lance sat ramrod straight, then, and he was looking sallow. Beads of sweat dripped down his face, and Shiro realised what a strain on Lance's body communicating with Keith was inflicting. He was almost tempted to stop. _Almost_.

It became clear, as Lance continued talking with Keith that he didn't want to stop either. He was flitting through the conversation with an intensity that made Shiro anxious, throwing about words and names that he couldn't follow, and didn't understand how _Keith_ even knew about all that stuff in the first place. Keith wasn't addressing him any more and had become invested in the discussion he was having with Lance.

Sipping at his tea, trying to soothe himself, Shiro cleared his throat politely.

“Can I ask what's going on?”

“' _I'll tell you later_ ' – what? Mate, in your condition you won't be telling anyone but _me_ anything... what ' _condition'_?” Lance sputtered, and it was odd to see someone interrupt himself in a slightly different voice. “Death, Keith. You're _dead_.”

“ _Lance_!” Allura said, appalled.

“What it's true! He's been a dick to me the entire time – nice taste in men, by the way, Shiro – and now he's saying all this shit about druids and I – no. _No_ , I never promised I wouldn't tell her. Or him. He deserves to know!”

Lance was shivering now, and the thin sheen of sweat coating his skin made his t-shirt stick to his chest.

Suddenly, he leaned forward. His eyes still weren't fully in focus, but Shiro could sense that he was looking at him.“' _Shiro, I swear I was going to tell you. I just didn't know how. I love you so much, I didn't want to bring my past into anything but... but it's here now and it's on_ my _back that I didn't tell you about everything sooner. You have to – stop_ fighting _me, please, I need to –_ ” Lance's nose started bleeding, scarlet dripping in worryingly steady rivulets over his lips and down his chin, spilling onto his shirt. Allura shouted in alarm, grabbing his shoulders.

“Stop it! Stop it, it's too much!” she cried out, “You'll hurt him!”

“' – _You have to promise me, baby, promise me you won't be angry. I was trying to keep you safe! I love_ –' ” Keith's words broke off as Lance coughed violently, doubling over as his chest heaved. Then, just like that, Shiro could tell it was over.

He stared at Lance in horror while his coughing fit subsided, and Shiro was left facing a man covered in his own blood, looking severely pissed.

Allura fretted over him, brushing her hands over his shoulders gently and peering into his face until he shrugged her off with a cocky grin.

“ 'M fine, jesus,” he croaked out, then looked up at Shiro. His expression shifted into one very much like fear. “One heck of a husband you've got there.”

“I'm sorry,” Shiro whispered. “I'm sorry, I didn't know it would – I didn't think it would hurt you like that.”

Lance wiped his nose, smearing blood over his hand messily. His eyes were red, like he'd been crying but there were no tears on his cheeks. Shiro's stomach churned.

“I'm sorry,” he said again, not knowing what else to say.

“More important things at hand than you're apologies, Shiro,” Lance said cheerfully. “You _are_ possessed! Kind of. In a way. But – good news is, the dickhead behind you isn't the cause of it.”

“I knew he was, I knew it,” Allura said, to herself, then looked up apologetically.

Shiro hesitated. “What... is it then? Is it dangerous?”

Much to his distaste, Lance nodded. “ _Galra_ ,” he spat out.

Allura made a noise of disgust. “I knew it felt familiar. But _how_?”

“Takashi,” Lance said smoothly, ignoring Allura. Shiro blinked in surprise to hear his first name. “Were you aware that your husband was a druid?”

Everyone jumped as the tea tray from the table clattered to the floor. Nobody had touched it.

Allura stared at in dismay as the contents of her fancy perspex pot spilled out onto the floorboards, lank tea leaves sticking the wood and liquid seeping between the cracks. Shiro was just glad nothing was broken, honestly.

“Keith, stop that.” Lance snapped. “You couldn't hide it forever.”

“I think I would have known if my husband was a... a druid,” Shiro said. After everything that had happened in this room today, he didn't know up from down.

“You'd be surprised,” Allura said softly. The way she spoke to him now was a jarring difference from the hostility of when they first met, and Shiro was unsettled by the complete swing in her behaviour to him.

“So, what does that mean?” Shiro asked slowly.

“Druids are, like, on the flip side of the coin _we're_ on.” Lance said, like it explained everything.

“Ever the eloquent one, _primo_ ,” Allura rolled her eyes. She moved so she was sat more comfortably on her stool, facing Shiro. “We are witches. Druids are... similar to us in many ways, but they draw their magic from blood.”

“I thought druids were supposed to be good?” Shiro frowned, casting his mind back to any history classes he'd had. “They were religious leaders.”

“They were, for a time,” Allura nodded. “Many centuries ago, though. There became a divide within their communities. A great and powerful high priestess, called Haggar, caused conflict and now all magic-users are split into covens. What few of us there are left, anyway. Lance and I, we're Alteans. Your husband? if Lance is correct in saying he is a druid, then he was a _Galran_. It is most likely how he is able to cling to the living world as he does, having been born to such powerful blood.”

Shiro felt dizzy, and he slumped back in his seat with a pained noise.

How had he not known anything about this? If this was the truth – and Shiro suspected it was, no matter how fantastical – then that meant Keith had lied to him, their entire lives. He had known Keith since they were _children_. He cast his mind back to the way Keith had begged him through Lance's mouth to not be angry, to remember it was for his safety that he didn't know any of this.

It didn't seem to have done much good, considering he was apparently in danger now.

“So why am I in trouble, again?” he asked tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Lance shifted uncomfortably, sneaking a furtive glance at Allura.

“What?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“ _Haggar_. She's not dead.”

“Gods,” Allura gasped, jumping to her feet. “This is a cruel joke, Lance.”

“I'm not joking. Why would I _joke_ about this? Keith told me. Or, I caught snippets of it, anyway. Haggar isn't dead, Allura. Neither is Zarkon,” his voice trembled and he reached out for Allura's hand, squeezing it in his own.

Shiro frowned. He seemed to be doing a lot of frowning today. “Who are they?”

“They murdered our family,” Allura rasped, leaning into Lance's side when he wrapped an arm around her. “They murdered my father. Lance's _sisters_.”

Lance sucked in a surprised breath, and said a cautionary, “Allura.”

“I'm sorry," she said, then again, "I'm sorry. This is just... bad news. How is _Shiro_ involved?”

Lance seemed to perk up a little at that, as much as someone who found out their family's murderers are still alive _could_ perk up. Shiro couldn't help but admire his tenacity.

“Keith is Galran, but only half. I'm not even sure you could consider him half? His mam was defecting, and married a human – ”

“Llewellyn,” Shiro said softly. “His father's name was Llewellyn.”

“Yeah, so defective Galran mother plus human father, and that's how we get this here Keith. Haggar had it out for his mam, and seeing as she's dead, and now _he's_ dead...”

“Shiro is the next best thing,” Allura finished for her. Then, both he and Allura shivered, looking around the room with anxious expressions.

“He's gone.” Lance said.

“Who? Keith?” Shiro felt ill at the idea they'd upset him.

Lance nodded. “He wasn't happy with the idea of me telling you. I think he wanted to do that himself.”

“He wouldn't have been able to anyway,” Shiro said. “I can't... I can't even _think_ about all of this.”

It was so much to process and he looked up at the pair in front of him with wet eyes. Allura looked on at him seriously, while Lance swallowed and met his gaze with an intense sympathy.

There didn't seem to be anything to say, and the silence was beginning to weigh down on Shiro uncomfortably. If he stayed, he'd be stuck with two strangers who had just shattered any understanding of the world around him. If he went home, he would be left with a husband he couldn't communicate with and an even more deafening silence for that.

“You can... come back tomorrow, if you'd like, Shiro?” Allura asked carefully. “There is actually more we need to discuss, but I'm not sure you're ready to hear it right now. This has been hard on you, which I appreciate, but as Lance has mentioned time and time again, we are supposed to be here to help. I apologise for my lack of consideration for that. I believe we can help you, but you will need to trust us for it.”

Shrio nodded slowly, considering her words. He didn't know if he trusted them, for he had only just met them but they seemed to be in this deeper than he was. There was a lot to think about, and his head was a mess. It took a while for him to answer, because he still wasn't sure he would be making the right decision by taking up the cousins on their offer.

Only time would tell, and if Shiro had learned anything over the past five months it was that he should be careful with it – his time. It was more precious than he could have ever thought, and he should only give it to those he thought might deserve it.

“Okay.” He said, then cleared his throat. He said it again, stronger this time. “Yeah. Okay. I'll come see you tomorrow.”

They showed him out politely, citing they would be there all day and he should feel free to drop by whenever he was amenable.

The walk home was long, and the heat of the day felt at odds with the ice running through his veins.

_It explains_ so _much_ , Shiro thought to himself as he settled into his bed later that night. He felt foolish for not considering the possibility that it was Keith destroying his own belongings in the first place, for not considering that his grief was misplaced because he had never really left him in the first place.

A burning shame chased hot on the heels of those thoughts. That meant Keith had seen him, crying at the butsudan, crying on Matt and Pidge, _begging_ out loud at no one in particular for something to make the loss easier.

Though, the idea of Keith being a druid? That was a hard pill to swallow. There had been no indication that his husband was anything other than a bona fide human. Sure, Keith had been unhealthily obsessed with the supernatural since he was a kid but Shiro, having grown up with him and watched him mature, chalked that down to the weird goth phase he went through in secondary school. There had never been a suggestion that it could have been anything other than a morbid curiosity and enjoyment of the fantastical.

But the fantastical was apparently real. And it made him second-guess _everything_.

“Keith,” he whispered out loud, feeling stupid when there was nothing by way of a reply.

Biting his lip, he flipped up the quilt and got out of bed.

Shiro made his way to the kitchen, and stared at the flimsy paper next to the door.

Their calendar wasn't anything special. An offensively red gift they'd been given on Chinese new year by their neighbour, Mrs Yik. She worked at the local oriental supermarket and was always shoving things she thought they might find a use for into their letter box. Keith had _adored_ her, always popping round for tea to make amicable small talk. And Keith _hated_ small talk.

He walked over to it, and reached out with violently shaking fingers. Unhooking the thing, he slowly began to turn the pages, the rustling of paper was loud in his ears, the action held so much more weight than he could have anticipated.

March was the month Keith's life was cut short.

July was the month Shiro would find out _why_.

When he placed the calendar back on the hook, he pursed his lips at it with a deeply furrowed brow. It was all well and good having a goal to set himself, but if he didn't have a plan on how he'd reach it then he was fucked, basically.

So, naturally, as Shiro sat himself down at the table with a steaming cup of coffee, he did the only thing any sane person could do in his situation.

“Siri? How do I talk to a ghost?”

 


	2. Dead Man Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Breathing deeply, he kept his eyes shut because his brain reminded him that there shouldn't actually be a weight next to him. He should have been alone.  
>  He desperately wanted to stay in the dream, because that was what it must have been. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was ready to go so I figured i'd post it now! I hope you enjoy :--)
> 
> no new tags/warnings for this chapter xx

 

Shiro's day off was one of the few mornings he got to have a half-decent lie-in.

Something niggled at the back of his mind, telling him he should get up because there was something he had to do. His sleep-mussed brain couldn't process what it was, though, so he burrowed deeper into the quilt with a muffled noise of discontent.

Keith always worked on Saturdays, but it was only a half shift. He had to get up at eight, and would be back by early afternoon with a warm smile. Even though he couldn't spend the morning with Shiro, he always left breakfast on the table for him.

Wholemeal toast, two lean rashers of bacon and scrambled eggs seasoned with paprika. Sometimes sausages, too, if the mood struck him. It was always the same thing because Keith didn't know how to cook much else save for the five dishes he decided were worth his time. Shiro's heart squeezed fondly, because the pride Keith took in the few things he _could_ make was evident in how good it all tasted.

Shiro woke up a while later, sprawled out and half-covered by his blankets. He couldn't smell freshly cooked food, but he could feel a dip in the bed alongside him. Breathing deeply, he kept his eyes shut because his brain reminded him that there shouldn't actually be a weight next to him. He should have been alone.

He desperately wanted to stay in the dream, because that was what it must have been.

Inhaling deeply, he caught the familiar scent of his husband and his insides twisted up. He pushed the thoughts of why that felt so painful away, immersing himself in the fantasy no matter how much he would regret it later.

It had been so long since he'd had good dreams about Keith. He _needed_ this.

Casting his mind back, he clung to any memory of their sleepy mornings together he could find; the way Keith hated cuddling because Shiro ran too hot but he always snuck a hand out so he was touching him in some way, when he would wake up to Keith inches away from his face and blowing gross morning breath in his face so he'd shove him away. If Keith was next to him now Shiro wouldn't shove him away. He found comfort in the way his fantasy became more palpable with the help of his memories.

In this particular dream, Keith had his hand curled under the pillow Shiro was laying on, and he could feel his fingers shift every so often, a quiet reminder that he was still there. It felt so _good_.

But it was just a dream. And Shiro would have to wake up eventually, and the longer he drew this out the more it's hurt afterwards.

Steeling himself with a deep, shuddering breath, he let the illusion slip away –

Only to find a pair of bright violet eyes staring right back at him.

Shiro blinked slowly, dread coiling low in his gut.

He'd had a dream like this only once before, and he wasn't excited to relive it. 'Sleep paralysis', Matt had called it when he'd confided in him. How cruel the human mind could be during sleep – playing out a harrowing sequence of waking up, so vivid it had to be true, only to find you actually hadn't been conscious at all.

“This isn't fair,” Shiro said quietly to the Dream-Keith when he found his voice.

“...Takashi?” Dream-Keith choked out, eyes wide. God. It was so fucking _real_ , and it was _killing_ him.

“I can't do this without you, love,” he shook his head. “I just can't. I know they said you're with me but I need you _back_.”

Dream-Keith sat bolt upright, chest heaving as he stared down at Shiro.

He was a sick rendition of the man Shiro found dead on the kitchen floor. Wearing tattered, bloody clothes with purpled, mottled gashes peeking out through the rips. The wounds were wet, but not leaking and bile filled Shiro's mouth when he caught sight of sharp, disfigured bones jutting out of the skin. All the things Shiro had tried to forget about from that day were painted onto the phantom's body and he moaned, distressed. Dream-Keith was even wearing odd socks, and those dumb skinny jeans Shiro had tried to give to Oxfam more times than he could count, and there was even that silly batman plaster wrapped his pinky finger from where he'd accidentally cut himself on the cheese grater only hours before he got fucking _stabbed_ to death in their home.

Taking quick, shallow breaths, Shiro rolled onto his back so he could look up at Dream-Keith. Because even as it left him broken to look at the phantom, he was desperate for anything that could soothe the ache that came with losing someone so important.

“I miss you,” he said. Pale red tears welled up in Dream-Keith's eyes, and he leaned forward on shaky arms, staring at Shiro in disbelief.

“Shiro,” Dream-Keith's voice caught on a sob. Shiro always hated it when Keith cried. “ _Takashi_ , baby, tell me you can see me. Please, God, _tell me you can see me_!”

“Christ.” Shiro was crying now too, because this wasn't what he wanted. This was awful. He resented himself for giving in to it all. This nightmare. “This is too fucking cruel. I want to wake up.”

“Fuck. _Fuck_! Baby, you're not dreaming!” Dream-Keith lied, crying out as his hands pulled at his already-messy hair. His cheeks were stained with a watery red, and his eyes had filled up with it, too. It looked terrifying. But Shiro's breath caught at his words, and he sat up slowly with a pained noise. This wasn't real, it couldn't be real. It just _couldn't_.

“You can see me!” Dream-Keith continued quickly, as though he couldn't believe it to be true, either. Shiro saw his own emotions mirrored on the facile of his husband's face. “This _isn't_ a dream, I promise. I _promise_ you. This is real, I'm real. _I'm here_. I've always been here, baby, please, please believe me. I'm so sorry! _I'm so, so, so sorry please just_ – ”

Dream-Keith cut himself off when he saw Shiro was reaching out to him with trembling fingers, and stared at him with eyes so full of hope, but it was marred by the way they were tinged scarlet.

Shiro just held his breath. Praying and praying and _praying_ –

His hand passed through nothingness.

There wasn't even a change in temperature as he dragged his fingers through Keith's abdomen.

His husband let out a broken noise, and tried to make a grab for Shiro's hand only for his to fall limply to the bed. He tried again, and again until he _screamed_ with frustration.

They stared at each other, and Keith was shaking his head in horror.

“I – I can't touch you, I can't touch you. I don't – ”

“ _Keith_?” Shiro breathed, that sickening hope swirling up inside him again. The same hope he'd felt when Lance had been Keith's mouthpiece yesterday. He was crying again, now, and continued to look on at the impossibly solid form of the man in front of him in shock.

Sensing that that the situation was spiralling, Keith swallowed, scrubbing furiously at his is bloody tears.

“I'm right here, it's me,” he said in a wet voice.

“H – how did this... how are you here?”

Keith sniffed, “I was _always_ here. I think... okay, this may sound stupid. I think it could have been one of those idiotic things you Googled last night?”

“You were watching that?” Shiro flushed, embarrassed.

“I've been watching you the whole time!” Keith threw his hands up, irritated and fond all at once.

“That's creepy,” Shiro blurted, without thinking.

“This is the first time you've seen me in five months, and the first thing you say is that I'm _creepy_ ,” Keith said flatly, glaring at him, but there was no real venom behind it.

Shiro narrowed his eyes. “I'm still not convinced this isn't a dream.”

“Okay – _fuck_ you,” Keith snarled, voice raised. “I have been stuck watching you grieve for _five months_. Five. Months. You absolute _tosspot_! Do you have _any_ idea what it's been like for me?!”

Shiro realised then, that this was not a dream. The Keith in Shiro's dreams was the sweet-mannered man everyone remembered him as, or _dead_. No one ever spoke ill of him, never talked about how easy it was to rile him up and make his fiery temper spark, so Shiro's subconscious had never offered up that side of him for the taking.

“Oh – oh, my god, Keith!” Shiro yelled delightedly, excitement bubbling up in his chest. It choked him, that blind joy. He'd never felt such pure, unadulterated happiness in his entire life.

He launched himself at his wide-eyed husband, and quickly found himself faceplanting the bed with a grunt.

Keith had shuffled over a bit, so Shiro wasn't literally sticking out of his body and looked down at him sadly.

“We can't touch,” he whispered. “I don't know why.”

“Well, you _are_ a ghost,” Shiro said, looking at him in dismay.

Keith stuck his tongue out, then fingered one of the rips in his shirt. “Yesterday... the things Lance said...” he murmured, eyes downcast.

“Are they true?”

“Yes, but it's not the full story. There so much more that I – ”

“It's okay,” Shiro interrupted him with a smile, still riding out his elation that he could even be speaking to him right now.

“It's okay?” Keith echoed doubtfully. “How is it okay?”

Shiro shrugged. “Because there's nothing we can do to change how things have happened.”

Keith's expression hardened. “ _You're_ telling _me_ that?”

Shiro looked away, embarrassed.

“I'm still dead, Takashi.”

“I know. I don't care.” Shiro said stubbornly.

“You should,” Keith whispered, ducking his head to catch Shiro's eye. “You didn't even box up my things, baby. It must have been so hard, being surrounded by all my shit every day.”

Shiro nodded, not trusting his words.

“I tried to get rid of them,” Keith said.

“You shouldn't have,” Shiro choked out, “I needed them.”

Keith shook his head, then paused, before heaving out a sigh. “No point crying over spilled milk, I guess. You're... taking this surprisingly well, all things considered.”

“Yeah, well, yesterday I found out magic is real so you being a ghost I can miraculously see now isn't a huge stretch,” Shiro said around a wry smile. “Lance and Allura are going to be way confused. They'll probably want to look at my browser history.”

“ _I'm_ still very confused,” Keith bit out.

“It almost seems too good to be true.”

“ _Don't_ say that, please,” Keith said, wincing.

“Sorry.” Shrio ran a hand through his hair tiredly, and looked up at Keith with a small smile. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Keith replied instantly, tears welling up in his eyes again. “I've missed you so much, even though I've seen you every day... I missed you. It was like dying all over again when I realised you couldn't see me.”

An intense sadness burned through his veins, and inched his hand along the bed until it was just shy of Keith's. The barest millimetre of space lay between their fingers, and Shiro could almost pretend it was by choice he wasn't touching him. It was incorrigible that he could feel Keith's presence in every other way save for the one he wanted the most.

He could catch his scent; the faint smell of cologne and his natural musk underneath that. His body affected his surroundings on a physical level, the dip in the bed and the way Shiro had felt his hand under the pillow. So why couldn't they _touch_?

Keith looked down at their hands with a complicated expression, as though he was thinking the exact same thing as Shiro.

“So...” Shiro started slowly, after a beat. “You're a witch, huh.”

That surprised a laugh out of Keith, and he smiled through his tears before shaking his head. “Technically, I'm a druid.”

“And that's different from what Allura and Lance are?”

“Not by a lot,” Keith said, “but it is different, yeah. I'm... I'm half Galran. They're Altean. Different bloodlines means different magic.”

Nodding, Shiro considered his words.

It was so strange to hear Keith speak so candidly about those things, because the fact of the matter was he'd known about them all along. Keith just never told him. He wanted to feel angry, wanted to feel that the withholding of that information was a betrayal of some kind, but it never came to him. It wasn't that he was still floating on the high of just hearing his voice again, it was more that Shiro recognised there must have been a good reason to hide all of this from him. Keith would tell him what it was in good time, Shiro had to believe that, he had to _trust_ that.

“I don't actually know a lot about it,” Keith admitted. “'Cause, you know, me mam _left –_ so I guess I'd actually be considered a Marmoran?” Shiro stared blankly at him, not following. “Marmorans are basically defecting Galrans,” he explained quickly. “ And Dad wasn't exactly privy to top secret druid info, but he told me what little he knew as I got older.”

“Have you known you were a druid the whole time?” Shiro asked.

“Yes.”

Shiro blew out a sigh, scrubbing at his jaw. “Why didn't you _tell_ me?”

Keith flinched, twisting his fingers in his lap nervously. “Mam said I couldn't betray the family. Dad said if I told anyone I wouldn't be safe. They said it so many times that I didn't really see any other option than to keep my mouth shut.”

“It must have been hard,” Shiro said softly.

“I got used to it,” Keith mumbled, reluctant to admit the suffering he went through in typical Keith fashion. Shiro supposed death couldn't change the fundamental aspects of someone's personality.

“You don't have to hide it any more.”

“No, I don't.” A small smile graced Keith's face, and he looked up at Shiro with liquid eyes that were just so _happy_. “But I'm not sure what use most of the stuff I know will be to you. It's not been any use so far.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Galrans,” Keith said, and suddenly he was more serious than Shiro had ever seen him. “They're doing something to you.”

Shiro swallowed audibly. That didn't sound good.

He hadn't had a chance to properly discuss what the 'more' was with Lance yesterday, and somehow he felt like he'd prefer hearing it from Keith's mouth. Shiro still wanted to visit the shop, because if it was something that was putting him in danger he wanted as much help as possible in terms of knowing how to fight it. Seven years in the military couldn't prepare him for fighting something that went beyond natural forces.

“What Allura sensed on me... Lance called it ' _el diablo_ ',” Shiro said. “Is it really that bad?”

“All I know is that I've had to sit and watch them come into our home twice a month and do _something_ to you. It's not any magic I recognise. It feels _wrong_.” Keith looked scared, and it wasn't an expression Shiro liked to see on Keith. He was the strong one, the person Shiro would look to when he was scared because Keith wasn't frightened of anything. But, he realised, there was a lot Shiro didn't know about Keith as of late.

“People have been breaking into the house? I feel like I would have noticed if something like that was happening,” Shiro said.

“'People', in the broadest sense of the word,” Keith said venomously. “Those _things_ aren't people. I still haven't figured out how they're getting in, either. I put up fresh wards every year – ”

“You put a spell on our house? When?” Shiro sputtered.

Keith rolled his eyes. “It was only once a year, and you weren't home. It was one of the only spells I'd been taught. I wanted to keep you safe.”

“I wish it could have kept _you_ safe,” Shiro said without thinking, and Keith reared backwards, temper visibly flaring up.

“ _Don't_ say that!” Keith snapped, and Shiro tumbled off the bed after him, holding his palms out apologetically. The atmosphere in the room changed suddenly, and he knew he'd said something that had made Keith _livid_.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry,” Shiro whispered, confused and upset and wanting the gentleness from before back.

“I didn't die for nothing,” Keith said, fuming. “I _didn't_.”

It felt like the blood in Shiro's veins had turned to ice. “Please don't say what I think you're about to.”

“What?” Keith demanded. “ _What_ , that I died for _you_?”

“Oh, God,” Shiro shook his head, wrapping his arm around himself. “I feel sick.”

Keith was shaking, while Shiro stood, rocking on his heels in an attempt to ground himself. Those were not words he could handle hearing. He didn't even want to entertain the idea that Keith's death was his fault. Fuck. Fuck, it couldn't be his fault. He didn't deserve Keith's martyrdom – _nobody_ did.

They stared at each other for a beat, before Keith's shoulders sagged and he looked up at Shiro apologetically.

“I shouldn't have said that,” Keith said heavily, and Shiro was constantly surprised by how quickly his anger could dissipate. “I'm sorry.”

Shiro couldn't help the small, broken noise that escaped him. He wasn't ready to talk about this, he realised. Words didn't find him so he just shook his head jerkily, and Keith stared at him in dismay.

Never in a million years did he expect to have Keith back, but if he had even thought it could happen, he wouldn't have expected them to get into a fight less than an hour after seeing one another again.

“We'll have to talk about it eventually,” Keith said.

“But not right now,” Shiro choked out. “I just got you back. I can't hear about how I lost you in the first place. It's too much.”

“You'll have to know someday, but you're right. Not today,” Keith conceded. “We should go to the shop, I think.”

“Are you going to play nice with Lance if we go?” Shiro quirked a brow, relieved to be moving onto another topic. Keith just smirked in response, stretching his arms high above his head.

“Only if _he_ does,” Keith muttered.

“Keith,” Shiro said reprovingly. “He was very polite, you didn't have to be so mean to him.”

“Okay, _dad_. I'll be good.”

That was probably the most satisfactory response he'd get from Keith about it, so he sagged his shoulders in defeat.

“You get ready, I'll be in the kitchen,” Keith said, sparing him a smile before leaving the room.

It felt strange that he was being given privacy. Things would be different between them now, though, and he didn't really have the energy to question Keith's reasoning at the moment. It had been an emotional morning, and it would probably continue to be a rough day.

Shiro wondered how Lance and Allura were going to react to this new development.

He mulled the thought over as he reached for his prosthetic, slipping himself into it with practised ease. Shiro gently chided himself, because he really should have put it on as soon as he woke up but there were more pressing matters at hand.

After getting changed, he tried to fix his bedhead in the mirror although it was to no avail and in the end he just grabbed a beanie and slipped it over the mop of hair with a grimace.

When he wandered into the kitchen, he found Keith stood in front of the butsudan, a complicated expression on his face.

He didn't move, and stayed silent as Shiro lit some incense and pulled some fresh rice cakes from the cupboard to replace the stale ones from yesterday. He didn't know if he should still provide an offering to Keith because... well. He wasn't as dead as he was before.

“You were so good to me,” Keith whispered, staring at the smoke that curled towards the ceiling. “I'm sorry I got mad at you just now. You looked after me so well, even in death.”

Shiro shrugged, and moved away from the altar to make himself a drink. “I couldn't have done anything else.”

“I liked the coffees,” Keith said suddenly.

“You did?” Shiro smiled, feeling something inside of him settle when Keith moved to his side.

Keith looked up at him guiltily. “I'm sorry about breaking stuff.”

“It's okay.”

“I'm sorry. About everything,” he rasped.

Shiro just shook his head.

He only made one coffee today.

It was late morning by the time Shiro suggested that they leave for the shop when a worried thought flittered into his mind as they opened the door. He slammed it shut quickly in a tizzy.

“Wait.” Shiro said quickly, moving to stand in front of him.

“Do you not wanna go after all?” Keith asked, concerned.

“No, no. It's just... if I can see you, doesn't that mean other people can, too?”

Realisation dawned across Keith's features, and he looked down at the mess of his torso in disgust. Although, it wasn't just that his injuries were questionable. Keith's face had been plastered all over the local news for several months alongside Shiro's statement begging people to come forward with information on his death, they wouldn't exactly be an inconspicuous pair to begin with.

“You can touch things, right?” Shiro said suddenly, and Keith narrowed his eyes.

“Sometimes,” he replied slowly.

“Do you think you could change your clothes? Or wear a hoody or something?”

Keith pursed his lips, considering. “Only one way to find out.”

They retreated back into the bedroom, and Shiro offered him a sweatshirt. He watched with bated breath as Keith reached out for it, and then slumped when his fingers seemed to carry its weight for a second, before they slipped through it like water. It hung limply from where it was clutched in Shiro's hand.

Staring at each other in resignation, they sat down on the bed.

_Guess we're waiting until it's dark, then._

**

 

Keith looked terrified as they walked down the street. He had his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, trying to hide himself as best he could. Not that it would have mattered. He was an odd sight anyway – no shoes, odd socks and skin paler than was probably healthy.

Shiro's fingers twitched. He wished he could hold his hand, or wrap a comforting arm around his shoulder. _Anything_.

In lieu of that, he settled for some soothing words. “It's okay, your hair is covering your face. Even if anybody was around, they wouldn't recognise you.”

Keith didn't say anything, only huddled in on himself more, keeping his head down as low as he could. It was strange seeing him so self-conscious; he had always been someone who held his head high as he walked, a confident swing to his narrow hips that just dared people to give him one wrong look.

Shiro just kept talking, words of encouragement spilling from his lips as they walked.

It was just as they were about to turn down into the side street, walking through the harsh white light of one of the lamp posts that a group of women tottered past them in heels. One of the girls gave Shiro a funny look, and he paused mid-sentence when they stared at each other briefly.

He looked away from her, then back to Keith and when her eyes followed his movement, she stared straight through the man stood next to him as though –

“Keith. _Keith_ , they can't see you,” he whispered as inconspicuously as he could and Keith's head whipped up. “ _Do_ something, see if I'm right.”

“I can't,” he hissed, keeping his head down. “What if you're _wrong_.”

“Then we'll pretend we're playing a prank or something,” Shiro dead-panned and Keith glared at him before squaring his shoulders, turning on his heel and _screaming_.

Shiro just about shit his pants, not expecting that at _all_. He watched him in shock and Keith continued to yell in the direction of the women, and felt a mixture of horror and elation when none of them turned around to see where the noise came from.

Keith moved back to Shiro's side, and they stared at each other, clearly thinking the same thing.

_What if I'm the only one who can see him?_

The rest of the walk to the shop was one of stony silence.

When they reached the courtyard, the door was wide open despite the late hour. The strong scent of spices wafted out towards them, and Shiro could hear faint mellow music accompanied by the sound of someone humming. It sounded nice. Homey. He felt himself relax a little, and strode right inside while Keith hung back a little, hovering in the doorway.

“Lance? Allura?” Shiro called out.

Lance poked his head through the bead curtain, and offered Shiro a little wave. “I didn't know if you'd come. Allura was starting to complain about the door being open.”

“I was _not_!” Allura's biting reply came from the other room.

A faint blush dusted Lance's cheeks when he spotted Keith in the doorway, bright eyes widening when they clocked the blood and open wounds and general poor state his body was in underneath the tattered clothes. Not that Lance was in any place to judge, because today's outfit found him in a longline white tee with (what Shiro supposed was) tasteful rips around the hemline, and a pair of what were probably inordinately expensive skinny black jeans that made his legs look, Shiro noted _completely objectively_ , amazing. His feet were bare, and Shiro couldn't help but notice the pale shade of blue he'd painted his toenails. It suited him.

“Whose _this_?” Lance said, forcing Shiro to drag his eyes back up to his face

Shiro arched a brow, confused. “You met yesterday?” he prompted.

“You don't recognise me?” Keith frowned, stepping into the shop.

“ _Keith_?” Lance's jaw dropped. “Wha – who – _what the_ _fuck_?”

“My sentiments exactly,” Keith said dryly in response. Shiro snorted.

Lance's loss for words only lasted that brief moment, before something on his face darkened. He looked _angry_.

“What did you two do?” he gritted out, and just as Shiro was about to open his mouth to ask what he meant by that, Allura emerged through the curtain. Her eyes widened when she saw Keith.

“Is that – what did you two _do_?”

Shiro threw his hands up in exasperation. “Stop saying that! We didn't _do_ anything. I don't know how this happened, that's why we're here.”

The stubborn set of Keith's jaw and the way his shoulders were squared told Shiro that he was one more accusation away from blowing his top off.

“You can't 'accidentally' summon a ghost, Shiro, I think – ”

“ _Ay, dios_ _mío,”_ Allura interrupted him. “This is the most drama we've had in the shop for decades. Get in the back. _All_ of you.”

She was the sort of woman that Shiro was equally terrified of and inexplicably attracted to, and those were a potent mixture. He knew an order when he heard one, and he trailed after Lance and Keith as she chivvied them along before locking the front door and following them through.

“Shiro,” she said as he watched Lance and Keith sit on the sofa, arms folded and refusing to look at one another. “Help me make some tea.”

“I drink coffee,” Keith piped up sarcastically. He received a long, measured stare for his trouble and sank back into the pillows a little deeper.

The kitchen Allura led him into was modest, but no less pristine that the rest of the shop. Shiro wasn't surprised to see neatly stacked jars filled with a myriad of different ingredients of vivid colours atop the clean marble counters. He _was_ surprised to see dried lizards hanging from the ceiling alongside bundles of herbs. Shuddering, he looked away from the oddities and back to Allura as she went about setting up the tea tray.

“Is it true?” she asked quietly, not looking up from her business.

“Is what true?” Shiro said stubbornly.

“That you don't know how you summoned him?” she clarified, flicking the kettle to life and turning to face him with a serious expression.

“Did you really drag me in here to ask me that?” he said, voice flat.

“Is it _true_?”

“I went to bed last night. _Alone_. And when I woke up, and he was just... _there_.”

“Shiro, I apologise if I come across as rude in saying this – but I just don't buy it,” Allura said, spreading her palms out. “Necromancy doesn't just happen by accident.”

_Necromancy?_

“Maybe you're pointing the finger at the wrong person. Who knows – maybe what Lance did yesterday triggered something,” Shiro retorted.

Allura just sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Lance didn't trigger anything. It doesn't work like that. I just... ugh, are you sure you can't think of a single thing that could have been the cause of this? I want to help you, Shiro, I really do. But you need to give us something to go on.”

Something clicked in his head, and his gaze snapped up to meet hers. He thought back to what Keith had mentioned earlier that day. “You might wanna take a look at my browser history.”

“E – excuse me?”

“Okay, this is going to sound dumb. Actually, _beyond_ dumb, but last night after I got home I. Uh. Well, I Googled how to speak to ghosts,” he maintained cautious eye-contact, expecting anger.

Allura didn't get angry. She didn't even look remotely disappointed in him. She laughed; loud and full, and Shiro stared at her in confusion.

“ _Oh_! Oh, my Lord,” she wheezed, “That is the best thing I've heard all week!”

“Stop laughing! It's not funny!” Shiro chuckled, finding her laughter contagious.

Ignoring him, still giggling to herself, she pointed to a jar behind him. “Pass me the one with the pink label. Do you like jasmine?”

Shiro nodded, and handed her the tea. They fell into a somewhat comfortable silence as Shiro watched her bustle about in the kitchen. In the quiet, he could hear voices coming from the room over and tilted his head towards the noise, trying to pick out what was being said curiously.

“...look different than I thought you would,” he heard Lance say.

“Couldn't you see me yesterday?” Keith asked, he sounded surprised. “I met another medium once, and she could see ghosts pretty well.”

Lance seemed to consider his question for a moment. “Could she talk to them? Like I can?”

“No,” Keith said, the word long and hesitant. “No. Now that you mention it, she couldn't hear them.”

“Thought as much. From the few, and I mean _few_ , other mediums I've met, it's always been sight or sound. Never both.”

“What do ghosts look like to you, then?”

Lance hummed thoughtfully. “Blurry. Like, you know the really old foggy windows in listed buildings? It's like I'm looking at someone through one of those. 'S like, I can sense they're there but I can't really pick out their appearance. And when they talk it's all muffled like I'm listening to them through the window, too.”

“Bummer,” said Keith, dispassionately. Then, with a little more determination, “So what did you think I'd look like?” Shiro couldn't help but smile at the challenge in his voice.

“I didn't think you'd have a _mullet_. Or skinny jeans. Or that you'd wear Batman socks,” Lance laughed, and then again when Keith made an indignant noise. “I figured you'd be a prissy princess with a button up and chinos.”

“ _Hey!”_ Keith's annoyed voice floated through, “I refuse to be insulted by someone who looked like they just stepped out of Jayden Smith's wardrobe!”

Allura chuckled quietly, catching their conversation too. She thrust the tea tray at Shiro, brows raised. “Get back in there before they tear each other's heads off.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” he joked, returning to the room. He set the tray down on the table, and perched himself on one of the stools opposite the sofas. They were more comfortable than they looked.

Allura joined them, and Lance moved to start pouring out the tea without being prompted.

“It seems we have a great deal more to talk about than we initially thought,” Allura said smoothly, sipping primly at the teacup Lance handed her. “At least we can talk with you freely now, Keith.”

“I should thank you,” Keith blurted, out of nowhere. “For yesterday.”

Lance grinned at him. “Aw, you're actually a big mawkish softie aren't you?”

Keith scowled, before composing himself, “Whatever. Just wanted to say I appreciated your help.”

“Shiro,” Allura said, interrupting what could have been an argument between the two men, “When you – ah, searched online for ways to communicate – ”

“Hold up!” Lance barked, looking at Shiro in disbelief. “Did you _Google_ how to speak to ghosts?”

“Um. Yeah,” Shiro said, sheepish.

Lance looked like he wanted to say something in jest, but Allura silenced him with a look, clearing her throat.

“ _As I was saying_ , when you did your... _research_ , did you come across any incantations or strange rituals?” she asked.

“No,” Shrio answered, “If I'm being honest, none of it seemed like it was anything real. And besides, wouldn't I have to have magic to make an incantation work in the first place?”

“Not necessarily,” Lance said. “The words of a spell itself can hold all the magic necessary to kick-start the process. It'd definitely drain you though, make you _suuuuper_ tired.”

“Well, I'm not tired. And I didn't cast any spells last night as far as I'm aware,” he looked to Keith, who was listening to the exchange intently. “Did you notice anything weird last night?”

Keith shook his head, “I don't even _feel_ much different.”

“Much?” Allura said sharply.

“I dunno. I feel a bit stronger? Like I don't have to concentrate so hard to stay grounded,” he frowned, and Shiro nodded in encouragement when Keith looked at him. “Sometimes I'd just disappear for a bit, and not know where I was... Sometimes I end up in the same place. This path in the middle of a forest. It's weird. It didn't happen often, only when I got angry and broke stuff or something. Touching things on your plane of existence really tires me out. Maybe it was the ghost equivalent of falling asleep or something, except the blackouts usually last for days.

Shiro's stomach swooped unpleasantly. He didn't like to think about the fact Keith was as alone as he was throughout the past five months. It must have been scary for him to deal with Shiro's grief at the same time as figuring out the schematics of his new existence.

“That's interesting,” Lance said. “ _Really_ interesting, actually! We should talk more about that some other time – but, right now? We should _probably_ explain why we're so freaked out by this whole situation, hey.”

“Okay...?” Shiro said slowly, and Keith sat up a little straighter.

“Necromancy one-oh-one, if you will,” Lance joked. “Basically. All this – ” he gestured to Keith “ – _cannot_ by _any_ laws of nature, exist by accident. Dark magic always requires a sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?” Keith echoed, voice shaking a little. He looked up at Shiro nervously, and Shiro knew his own expression mirrored his husband's.

“You two are what we'd call an Achor-Spirit relationship. They're very rare, I've only ever seen one other in my lifetime and it was very short lived,” Allura said. “I don't mean to be blunt, or to frighten either of you but this kind of magic is very powerful and always requires death to fuel it.”

“And you don't mean the kind of death like _me_ ,” Keith said solemnly.

“Wait, wait, wait – are you saying that it'd need _human_ sacrifice?” Shiro's voice cracked as he spoke, and he twisted his hands together anxiously.

“Like I said, necromancy doesn't just happen by accident,” she said, her gaze downcast.

“Also,” Lance added, “You have to be a magic-user to be an Anchor.”

“I thought you said people who didn't have magic could do spells?” Shiro frowned.

“Spells? Yes. Become a tether for a spirit to be attached to the physical realm by? No.”

“You don't need to be such a dick about it!” Keith snapped, and he stood up, moving to stand next to Shiro defensively.

“I'm not trying to be a _dick_ ,” Lance said, “I'm trying to be realistic. _You_ were the one who was keeping his gob shut about the druids yesterday!”

“I was feeling emotional, so sue me!”

“Maybe I _will_!”

“ _BOYS_ ,” Allura bellowed, the lights in the room flickering menacingly. Shiro breathed out a sigh of relief. “We cannot solve _anything_ with you two constantly at each other's throats. I cannot believe you are two fully grown men, acting like bloody _children_. Get _along_ , or get _out_.”

They both blanched at her show of power.

“Sorry,” they muttered grudgingly.

“Besides, Shiro might just be one,” she said, rolling her eyes when all three men stared at her in confusion. “A magic-user.”

“Uh, what?” Shiro sat a little straighter.

“The druids,” Keith whispered suddenly, “Whatever they're doing – it could be changing you.”

“Bringing me to my next point.” Allura tapped her chin with perfectly manicured fingers, looking at Keith. “What _are_ the druids doing to him?”

“How should I know?” Keith said, indignant.

“You're a Galran. You should be familiar with dark magic, no?” Allura said bluntly, and Keith flushed.

“Half Galran,” he said with emphasis. “Not even that – my mam was a Marmoran, defective. _Besides_ , she left before she taught me anything.”

“Strange,” she murmured.

“Why is it strange?” Keith snapped. “Are you really so ignorant that you think all Galrans are evil? Don't forget we all lived in harmony at one point in time.”

Allura looked like she wanted to say something cutting in response, but was interrupted by Lance.

“He's right, Allura.”

She heaved out a sigh. “I know. It's just... hard for me. The Galra have done wrong by me for so long it can be hard to look past that. I apologise.”

Keith nodded stiffly, but shifted closer to Shiro nervously. Lance looked between them with an expression Shiro couldn't quite place, and averted his eyes quickly when he realised he was being watched.

_Huh. Wonder what that's about._

“As I said yesterday, I believe we can help you,” said Allura, leaning forwards. “I must admit it does sweeten the deal somewhat given I've been looking for an opportunity to fight back for quite some time now. Whatever the Galrans want with you, it must be important. And Lance and I are going to do everything in our power to make sure they don't get it.”

“Can you try not to sound so excited by the fact I'm being experimented on in my sleep by evil wizards,” Shiro said, feeling a bit ill. What could a bunch of powerful druids possibly want with him? He was good at _accounting_ , not evildoing. And last time he checked, the supernatural weren't desperately seeking out somebody to look over their bank statements for them.

Allura had the good grace to look sheepish. “My apologies. I just meant that this will be a mutually beneficial arrangement. It's been nearly a century since we had the upper hand.”

“I wouldn't call this the upper hand, 'Lura,” Lance said, “Lives are a stake.”

Shiro was grateful for Lance's sympathy. He was getting the sense that Allura was someone who would be logical to the extreme when it came to strategising, and it was a relief to know there was someone other than Keith and himself who leaned more towards relying on their emotions.

Keith caught onto something else. “Nearly a century? How old are you?”

“Why. How old are _you_?” Lance shot back, clearly aiming for a joke but Keith's sense of humour was selective.

“I'm twenty-five.”

“ _Right_ ,” Lance laughed, then it caught in his throat when he saw Keith's genuinely perplexed expression. “No. Really, mate. How old are you?”

“Eh? What are you _on_ about. I _told_ you, I'm twenty-five.”

Lance and Allura exchanged a weird look.

“Maybe it's different because he's half human?” Allura offered.

“Who is ' _he_ ', cat's mother?” Keith bit out. “You two are being rude.”

Shiro was inclined to agree, but didn't say as much. He didn't feel like he had a place in this conversation, as though it was plastered in signs that said 'witches only'.

“Sorry,” Lance said and Keith looked surprised to have received an apology from him at all. “We're only chelpin' on about it because witches live for a really long time. Like, you're basically a _teenager_.”

Maybe one day hearing about magic and ghosts and druids wouldn't make Shiro's head spin in confusion, but he feared that day was far off in the future. Every second he spent with Allura and Lance seemed to blast through anything he believed to be true.

_I just want to go to bed now, I'm getting too old for this shit. I don't even wanna know how old they are._

“How old are you?”

_Dammit, Keith._

Smirking, Lance shrugged. “Two-hundred and fifty-four.”

_What the fuck._

“What the fuck.”

_Me too, Keith._

“Shiro looks just about ready to pass out,” Lance changed the subject quickly. “Why don't you two head on home? We'll be here all week,” he added sarcastically.

Keith looked down at Shiro guiltily, and he tried to offer his husband a reassuring smile but Lance was right. He felt like he was going to keel over any second now. Shiro was comforted by the fact he would sleep easier know he'd wake up to Keith beside him again.

As Shiro went to stand up and bid the cousins goodbye, Keith spoke up in a hurried voice, “Is there anything you can do now? Like, to protect him in the meantime while we figure out what they want with him?”

Lance pursed his lips, and looked at Allura as though she would have all the answers.

“It's not much, and it can't be done right now,” she said carefully after thinking for a moment, “But there is a fairly simple practice we can try to implement into your daily life. It may keep the druids at bay somewhat.”

“Anything,” Shiro said quietly. “Anything you think would help.”

“Where are you next off work?” Lance asked. “Or could you swing by afterwards?”

Shiro glanced at Keith who just shrugged. “I can.”

“Keith, meet us here when he does. You're involved in this, too. Maybe even more than we think you are,” Lance said.

They left it at that.

There didn't seem to be much else to say by way of comfort, and it was clear the two of them weren't well acquainted with platitudes. Shiro couldn't exactly put his finger on why, but there was something about Lance which drew him towards the man. His very nature seemed to call out to Shiro in ways that went beyond the natural workings of things, however Shiro had to come to terms with the idea that 'the natural workings of things' was not all that it seemed.

A representation of this very notion lay facing him in bed that night, with violet eyes that gleamed in the dim light filtering through the blinds.

“I love you,” Shiro whispered, as he closed his eyes.

“I love you, too,” Keith breathed, and as Shiro fell asleep he could almost pretend he could feel Keith's body against his own. Almost.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please consider leaving kudos/a comment if you enjoyed reading! :-)  
> You can find me at [my tumblr](eatjamfast.tumblr.com) xxx
> 
>  
> 
> probably be posting chap 3 next week or something
> 
> **Chapter Three: Connected, Not Connecting**  
>  _They had discussed this before. Briefly. Shiro had just passed it off as speculation, yet now they had evidence pointing towards it being the truth. He didn't feel any different, he hadn't noticed any changes in himself, and the idea that it was so subtle it would go undetected was terrifying  
>  Control was something Shiro valued in his life. It was how he dealt with everything; it made him feel like he had a grip on reality.  
> This wasn't the reality he was used to. _


	3. Connected, Not Connecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They had discussed this before. Briefly. Shiro had just passed it off as speculation, yet now they had evidence pointing towards it being the truth. He didn't feel any different, he hadn't noticed any changes in himself, and the idea that it was so subtle it would go undetected was terrifying._  
>  Control was something Shiro valued in his life. It was how he dealt with everything; it made him feel like he had a grip on reality.  
> This wasn't the reality he was used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new tag here for: **Explicit Sexual Content**  
>  and Matt and Pidge are now in the character tags! :--)
> 
> the plot is finally kicking in a bit here thank GOD lmao

Everyone in the office seemed to notice the change in Shiro.

He was starting to feel a little nervous in the face of all those overly-sympathetic pats on the shoulder, the smiles that screamed with morbid curiosity as to how he was suddenly back to his old self – whoever the hell that was, anyway – and wanting to know how everything about him could have changed over the one week.

A week filled with soft smiles and “ _I love yous_ ” and everything Shiro thought he would never get again. Shiro had found, as the days passed by, that his happiness wasn't exactly something he could hide. He hadn't felt like this since before Keith died.

What _possible_ explanation could be offer up for the sudden upswing in his mood? Maybe he could blame it on the mindfulness book Danielle from IT gave him, after swearing blind it helped her move past the harrowing experience of losing her pet gerbil.

Snorting at the thought, he slid into the seat next to Matt with his lunch.

“You've got something on your face,” Matt said by way of greeting. Shiro frowned, rubbing a hand over his cheek in confusion. “No – more to the right, down a bit... there. Do you feel it?”

“No? Did I get it?”

“Nah, 's still there.”

“What is it?” Shiro finally relented, catching the mischievous glint Matt's eye.

“A _smile_.”

“Oh – Matt. For God's sake,” Shiro laughed, shoving him away playfully.

Matt just grinned, shoving a chip into his mouth. “It's good to see it, mate. Thought you'd forgotten how.”

Shaking his head in exasperation, Shiro elected not to dignify that with a response. He picked at his salad, and reminded himself to work on the exercise he'd run through with Lance. He'd been recommended to perform it with every meal, so it would become a routine that fell in with other natural functions until he didn't even need to think about it any more. Shiro could see the sense in that – like spiritual muscle memory or something.

Matt was talking about a project he'd been assigned and half-listening, Shiro cast his mind back to what Lance had taught him.

“ _Close your eyes, relax a bit,” Lance said, his voice soothing given how abrasive it could be. Shiro closed his eyes, slumping his shoulders a little. “Follow my breathing, get into the same rhythm as me. You're safe here. Nothing bad can happen to you, or Keith, everything is safe and warm and good,” it was like he was speaking right into Shiro's ear, except he wasn't because Shiro could feel their knees brushing together every time one of them shifted. Shivers ran up his arms, prickling his skin with gooseflesh. He felt inclined to believe him, because he was so relaxed and at ease in his presence that Lance_ must _have been right._

“ _It's warm,” Shiro breathed helplessly, “It's safe.”_

“ _Yeah, it is,” he could hear the smile in Lance's voice. “Now, I want you to picture a ball in front of you, a ball of energy – can you do that?” Shiro nodded. “Is it big? Little? Neither?”_

“ _It's small,” Shiro said. He distantly thought that it was strange, to see that little ball so clearly in his mind, the only other thing surrounding him was the soothing cadence of Lance's voice._

“ _That's okay, we have a good starting point there,” Lance praised him, and Shiro felt a happy smile play on his lips. “Can you tell me what colour it is?”_

_Shiro concentrated, coaxing the ball towards him and focusing on it a little harder._

“ _It's white,” he said once he was sure._

“ _That's great, Shiro. You're doing so well.” Lance shifted forwards then, until their foreheads were touching. “This bit will be a little bit harder, but just stay with me, big guy, yeah?”_

“ _Yeah...” Shiro felt dazed. He could hear muffled talking behind him, but didn't process the words. It just fell away into background noise, becoming part of the pleasant hum in the back of his mind._

“ _I need you to make it bigger, I can give you a bit of energy to make it stronger if you do that,” Lance whispered. “Make it big enough to surround your entire body.”_

_Shiro's brow furrowed, and made an attempt at what Lance had requested of him. It was hard, and the little ball of light resisted him with all its might. He concentrated harder, willing it to grow and it shuddered with the strain of its reluctance to do what he wanted._

_Suddenly, the place where his skin rested against Lance's seemed to connect them beyond anything physical._

_He had never experienced anything quite like it._

_It was like there was a gentle knock, a polite request to let Lance inside, and there was nothing Shiro could do but let it happen._

_The gentle tide of Lance's energy washed over him, until he could feel his body thrumming with it._

“ _Is this what you feel like all the time?” Shiro said, awed. It reminded him of the ocean, which seemed to make sense. Lance's entire being was fluid and adaptable, and it felt strangely intimate to be experiencing his energy on such a higher level._

_Lance laughed softly, but didn't acknowledge the question. “Remember what we're doing here; make the ball bigger, yeah?”_

_Shiro let his consciousness drift back to his little ball of light, and found that specs of vivid blue were dancing around it like dust moats, joining with him in his efforts to grow it. Miraculously, it did help._

_He felt the extra push of power behind him, and sure enough his light was_ growing _._

_It seemed like it was a long time before it was large enough of a sphere for him to pull it towards himself, convincing it to surround his body and bathe him in its pretty glow. Shiro couldn't help but notice that amongst the pure white of his ball, there were little flecks of aquamarine embedded in it, and orbiting around the outside alongside the haze surrounding it._

“ _There you go,” Lance breathed, “You've got it. It's there.”_

_Before he had a chance to relax himself further in the energy they were sharing, before he could even properly acknowledge those cool blue waters flowing through him, the moment was gone._

_The pressure of Lance's forehead left his own, and he let his eyes fall open, staring at the man in front of him in shock._

_Lance was smiling at him, thin lips curled up in something genuine and proud. Shiro felt his own, answering smile grow in response to it, helpless._

_He could still feel Lance's light inside of him, like someone had drawn a line in his soul then rubbed it out. The imprint was still there, but the exact definition of what it had been was faded, colourless and left him feeling empty._

_Shiro looked up to where Keith and Allura were sat on the couch._

_There was an unusual intensity to the way Keith was looking between the two men. Shiro couldn't allow himself to read too much into it, offering his husband a small smile before looking to back to Lance._

“ _You said it was gonna be simple,” he said._

“ _It_ was _simple. I knew you'd be able to do it,” Lance replied with a blasé wave of his hand._

It should have been strange that his first intimate exposure to magic had been with Lance. After finding out about this strange world that lived quietly alongside his own, Shiro had been expecting his first direct interaction with it to be with _Keith_. And in hindsight, he hadn't realised how invasive of a procedure it would be – and what was more confusing still, was how unbothered he was that he hadn't shared it with Keith. Shiro was happy to have experienced it with Lance.

It was a strangely feeling, and he couldn't quite put a name to it yet.

Shaking himself, he stabbed his salad with a little more aggression than necessary and closed his eyes briefly. He felt the ball of light around him, could see it within his mind as it flickered. Shiro asked it if it would stay put, and it glowed brighter in response.

“Shiro?” Matt said, sounding apprehensive.

“Uh – yeah?” Shiro turned to him, found Matt looking at him with a small frown.

“I was just saying, do you mind it me 'n Pidge swing by tonight? She hasn't seen you in a while,” Matt said, taking a bite from his sandwich.

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded. As Matt had implied as kindly as possible, Shiro had been neglecting his friendships during the past few months. He always manage to cobble together some kind of excuse to avoid people, but the cold hard truth of it was that he just couldn't deal with people walking on eggshells around him. It had become an unspoken rule not to mention the K word around Shiro.

He wondered vaguely if the sudden change in his mood would affect that at all – wondered if they'd allow themselves to grieve for Keith now that Shiro was, as far as they were concerned, moving past it. Now he could reflect on the whole thing, it upset him that he denied his friends the opportunity process Keith's death because they felt they needed to support him first.

Guilt spread through him, thick and ugly, at the idea they should need to grieve Keith in the first place given he wasn't actually as dead as he used to be.

But what was he even supposed to say? 'Hey guys, you don't need to keep visiting his grave because he's actually sat at home catching up on Netflix right now in all his ghostly glory!” Not fucking likely.

So Shiro would do better.

It was time he learned to balance his own healing alongside his friends'.

Seeing Pidge after all this time would be a small step towards a happier future for them.

**

When he rushed home that afternoon, Keith was exactly where Shiro left him that morning: sprawled out on the sofa with the TV playing quietly in front of him.

He looked up when Shiro entered the living room, giving him a lazy wave as he rolled onto his back.

“Productive day?” Shiro smiled, settling on the arm of the settee.

“I'm probably the only ghost who can catch up on their favourite shows,” Keith grinned, pulling his body into a cat-like stretch. Shiro averted his gaze from the sliver of taught stomach that was exposed as his shirt rode up, swallowing audibly.

They hadn't quite gotten around to acknowledging the lack of physical contact between them since the first day. Shiro didn't know how to bring it up.

“Are we going to the shop today?” Keith asked, moving into an upright position.

“Mmm, I think so. Matt and Pidge are swinging by for a spell this afternoon, though.”

Keith shifted uncomfortably. “Are you sure that's a good idea?”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

Staring at Shiro for a moment, Keith shrugged and jerked his chin towards the kitchen with an apathetic expression. “You'll have to put my picture back up.”

“Yeah,” Shiro sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “Is it okay that I invited them?” he asked cautiously.

“It's fine,” Keith said, staring at the TV.

_Well that was convincing._

“Sweetheart,” Shiro said softly, and he leaned towards him. Keith stiffened, but kept his eyes trained on the screen. “We're going to figure all of this out, okay?”

“There's nothing to figure out,” Keith said flatly, finally looking up at him. His eyes were glazed with red, lips pressed into a stubborn line. “I'm dead, Takashi. Nothing is going to change that.”

It hurt. It really fucking hurt to hear Keith resign himself to his fate to easily.

Shiro knew they couldn't reverse his death but he'd be damned if Keith spent his afterlife feeling hopeless and alone. It was easy to forget he'd been alone for five months before now. And now he was stuck at home all day while Shiro was at work, trapped in a loop of staying at home with the TV Shiro had to turn on for him, only being able to talk to the same three people.

It wasn't that they didn't appreciate their time with Lance and Allura, it was just that Shiro couldn't help but feel Keith needed more. He needed to feel productive again, feel _alive_ again.

“You're dead,” Shiro said reluctantly, and something softened in Keith's gaze at whatever expression was on his face. “But you're not gone. You've got a second chance, darling, and that's not something I'm going to let you waste.”

“It's not up to you,” Keith whispered. “What good is a second chance if I can't do anything with it?”

“You are. You are doing something,” Shiro said fervently. He trembled as slid down onto the cushions next to him, inching out his hand until it rested side-by-side to Keith's. “You're with me again. You're helping me – not just by being here, but by working with Lance to figure out what's happening to me. And when we've moved past this mess, we'll find another way for you to... to do something else.”

“How are you always so optimistic?” Keith said desperately.

“I'm not,” Shiro said honestly. “You know I'm not. But if I say it out loud enough, then I'll eventually believe it. Wasn't it you who always banged on about the power of belief? Personal responsibility? Keith, darling, you can't give up before anything has even started.”

“I don't – ”

A clatter came from the kitchen, followed by the sound of light footfalls.

Keith scrambled off the sofa, tripping over his own feet.

Whipping his head up, Shiro stared at the archway to the living room in thinly veiled horror as Pidge strode into the room with a bemused expression.

“How you live with yourself leaving the door unlocked like that, I'll never now,” she said, exasperation thick in her voice as she pushed her glasses higher up onto the bridge of her nose. Shiro tried to be subtle when he glanced at Keith, who was hovering nervously in front of him. They exchanged a quick look.

It shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it was after the first night, when the drunk girls hadn't been able to see him. But this was Pidge. Their _friend_. Keith was stood right in front of her and _she didn't see him_.

“Y – yeah, my bad,” Shiro forced out awkwardly, turning back to look at her.

“What's up with you?” she said.

“Sorry,” Shiro said with some semblance of normalcy as paused the TV. He led her into the kitchen. Keith didn't follow. “When are you going to learn how to knock, Katie?”

She hopped up onto the counter with a cheeky smile, “I'll learn to knock when you learn to lock, _Takashi_.”

“Fair,” Shiro conceded. “Where's Matt?”

“Oh, he couldn't make it. Mam wanted to set up a Facebook after Auntie Eleanor got one,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“How is your mum doing?”

“Eh. So-so. It's uh... It's the anniversary of Dad's death coming up so...”

“Oh, God – Katie, I'm so sorry,” he said, wincing. “I completely forgot.”

She gave him a serious look over the rim of her glasses, mouth pulled down into a disapproving frown that looked eerily similar to her brother's. “You have enough on your plate.”

“It's no excuse,” he said.

“Maybe not, but it's the truth,” she said, with a finality that meant she didn't want to hear any more about it. “Matt says you're doing better now. Guess I had to see it for myself.”

Shiro opened his mouth to reply, but sensed Keith entering the room. It was hard not to react to his presence, so used to orbiting him like it was the only thing he'd ever known how to do. Keith gave him a short nod, and looked at Pidge pointedly.

“I am,” Shiro said quickly, and bent down to pull two bottles of beer from the fridge. He uncapped them, passing one to her. “I haven't felt this good in a long time.”

“What changed?” she asked curiously around the lip of the bottle.

“It's kind of hard to explain, I – ”

“You took his picture down?” Pidge interrupted, surprised. Shiro followed her gaze to the butsudan and he paled. Keith looked between them, waving his hand jerkily at Shiro.

“Say it broke!” he hissed, and Pidge turned to look at Shiro expectantly.

“I – uh, it broke?” he offered weakly, then collected his excuse together. “It fell over the other day. I still haven't gone into town for a new frame.”

Pidge seemed to buy it, and they both breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn't seemed necessary to keep it up, and Keith hated that picture anyway, as he'd informed Shiro loudly one morning last week.

“You do realise online shopping is, like, a Thing now, right?” she said. “ _Honestly_ , Shiro.”

He laughed good naturedly. “It's almost like you're encouraging me to not go outside.”

“Never did me any damage.”

Keith scoffed, and Shiro snorted, couldn't help but agree with him.

“She's paler than the white powder I wore in my goth phase,” Keith remarked, and Shiro laughed again, shooting him a warning look.

“ _Sure_ ,” he said because that seemed to carry Keith's sentiments.

“Hey!” she said, “I get along just fine!”

“Pidge, you're a nineteen year old girl. When was the last time you went out and did nineteen year old girl things?”

She sniffed, lifting her chin haughtily as she took a long draught off her beer. “Stop turning this around on me. We're here to pick at your problems, not mine.”

“Matt already told you – I'm a changed man,” Shiro joked. It didn't land. Pidge's face fell.

“You're... you're not seeing someone, are you?” she asked, voice low.

Shiro hated that his mind jumped to blue eyes, crooked smiles, and tan skin alongside Keith's face.

“No!” he said quickly.

“It wouldn't matter if you were!” she said, eyes wide and screaming ' _it would matter_ '. “I just meant that – ”

“I'm not seeing anyone, Pidge,” Shiro said firmly. “I'm _not_.”

“Okay.” She still looked uncertain, and Keith made a pained noise before walking out of the room. Shiro wondered if he'd ever get used to the way his heart hurt so much these days.

“Tell me about what you're doing at the minute,” Shiro said, making an executive decision to change the subject. He wasn't ready to go down that road.

Pidge followed his lead gratefully, and listed off all her newest escapades involving her latest day job. She only stayed for a while longer, finishing her drink before politely citing she needed to head to her night shift at the supermarket. As she walked through the front door, she levelled him with a serious stare, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“It was good to see you, man. I'm happy for you but don't be a stranger, yeah?” Pidge said, and Shiro nodded woodenly. She squeezed his shoulder again, then walked away.

He shut the door quietly, letting out the rush of air that had been stuck inside of him since the moment Pidge had walked through the door, and looked around his quiet kitchen. There was a time Keith and his flat had been a social hub, now it just felt empty.

“Keith?” he called out tentatively.

“Living room,” came Keith's mumble, and Shiro followed his voice to find him laying face-first on he sofa.

“Keith, we need to finish our conver – ”

“I miss it,” Keith interrupted suddenly. “I miss hanging with Pidge. I miss going over to Mrs Yik's and eating all her pork dumplings. I miss being able to change over the _fucking_ channel on the TV,” his voice pitched higher and higher as he continued talking, and Shiro's body felt colder and colder, “I want to make you breakfast and I want to _touch_ you. I don't know how much longer I can handle this, Takashi, it hurts more than when I was invisible.”

“Why would you _say_ that?” Shiro whispered brokenly, something painful shifting inside of him.

Keith bared his teeth, jumping up to square up against him, “Don't act like it doesn't hurt you, too!”

“I'm not saying it doesn't, Keith,” Shiro threw his hands up.

“Then admit it,” Keith snarled. “Say it! Just say that you wish I hadn't come back because it makes everything harder than it needs to be!”

“Don't,” Shiro said. “Just... _don't_. You coming back is the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

Keith's bloody tears were filling his eyes, and he scrubbed at them angrily, glaring at Shiro. “ _No_. Me being alive was the best thing that ever happened to you. I should have just stayed _dead_.”

“I don't want to fight you on this, but I'm not just going to stand by when you're acting like... like whatever _this_ is. I'm going to see Lance, come by the shop when you've cooled down and we can talk, okay?” he kept his voice level, and slipped on his hoody where it was slung over the back of the sofa.

Keith stared at him with wet eyes, before giving a tiny inclination of his head.

Shiro offered him a sad smile as he left, not knowing what else he could give.

**

“What happened?” Lance was staring at him before he'd even taken two steps into the shop.

“How do you – ugh, _Lance_ you know I said I didn't like you reading my aura,” Shiro groaned.

“Nah, dude,” he said. “Don't need to be a witch to know you look like someone put salt on your Cheerios.”

“Is that even a thing?”

“I'm just calling it like I see it.” Lance leaned against the till with a shrug. “You wanna talk about it?”

Shiro bit his lip, mulling the question over. He kind of needed an external perspective – not that Lance was very external to their lives any more but he was the closest thing Shiro had to a friend in all of this mess. Actually _was_ his friend in all this mess.

“It's getting to him. Amongst other things,” Shiro said softly. “That nobody except us can see him.”

Lance's eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“Well, on the first night? Nobody in the street could see him. Our friend's little sister visited today unannounced and she couldn't see him either... they were close. Keith and her. It kind of set him off.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Lance asked, but he didn't sound accusatory.

“It just kinda slipped my mind,” Shiro admitted. “He's not been leaving the house unless we're seeing you so we didn't really need to think about it. Lance, I don't know how to make him better. I don't know how to help him.”

“Well it's a good thing I got my psychology degree!”

“Really?”

“Yea it was like thirty years ago now but it's whatever,” Lance flashed him a grin, and Shiro allowed himself a small chuckle. “You want some tea?”

“Coffee, please.”

“I thought you were cutting the caffeine down?” Lance said as they made their way to the kitchen, he cast a knowing look over his shoulder.

“I deserve a treat,” Shiro said.

“I suppose you'll wanna bum a cig, too, huh?” Lance joked.

“See how we go,” Shiro rolled his eyes.

He perched himself on the stool in the corner of the kitchen, watching as Lance set up a cafetière on a tray, pulling two teacups down from one of the cupboards. The floaty black dress-shirt he was wearing rose up on his bare thighs. Shiro could tell it had been longer at one point, but had been altered to be more flattering for Lance's slim body. It had a deep vee to the front of it where Lance hadn't buttoned it up all the way, chest covered by one of his many crystal charms that chimed musically whenever he moved. Shiro had never met anyone who dressed the way Lance did, but then he supposed when you had over two centuries of fashion experience to draw from you would probably be pretty snazzy. Shiro couldn't help but feel a little underdressed.

“I like your dress,” he said, without thinking and immediately regretted it. He sounded stupid, flushing when Lance turned to look up at him with wide eyes.

“Thanks!” Lance said genuinely, with a coquettish smile. He gave Shiro an exaggerated twirl even though the dress didn't really have enough of a skirt to it to be worth it. “It was my sister's. Too bad I look better in it than she ever did.”

Shiro just nodded, didn't ask anything else. Lance had mentioned his family briefly in conversations before; usually in jest or recollection of a fond memory. He always shut down, as much as Lance could shut down, if anyone tried to pry. All Shiro knew was that they were dead, and as much as he burned with curiosity over his mysterious past, it just wasn't his business.

 _Yet,_ the little voice in the back of his head said snidely.

“The chairs are out in the courtyard, Allura was doing a reading out there earlier,” Lance said, gesturing for Lance follow him through the little door in the corner of the kitchen. “Unlike you, I do want a tab. It's going to rain all next week, let me enjoy the sun a bit longer.”

Shiro didn't ask how Lance knew that, because last time he checked they were in for a heatwave. Lance seemed to know a lot of things he shouldn't. He would have to ask how the information came to him at some point. Was it just a feeling? Prophecy? Shiro was actually pretty interested.

The summer sun was still high in the sky, lighting the courtyard in a cheerful glow despite the fact it was early evening. Shiro felt calmer already, and settled into his seat. There was a pair of pigeons cooing softly, perched in the sprawling wisteria that climbed up the building.

“So,” Lance said with emphasis. He pulled out one of his black Sobranies and lit it, speaking as he exhaled, “Spill.”

Shiro wrung his hands together, before buying himself some time to collect his words by pushing down on the coffee plunge and pouring himself a little cup.  
By the time he felt ready to talk, Lance was halfway through his cigarette, gold filter tucked neatly between his fingers. He looked at Shiro expectantly through the haze of smoke, his bright eyes picking at Shiro's face with a perceptiveness that didn't quite set him on edge, but it was close.

He played up a lackadaisical attitude, but Shiro knew there was a keen eye closer to the surface of Lance than most people would assume. Keith had noticed it, too. And speaking of Keith –

“I think he's feeling pretty down,” Shiro said finally. “It's like I said... he doesn't leave the house, he won't even talk to me, really. Isn't that what we should be taking advantage of now I'm his anchor or whatever? It's one of the few things we _can_ do.”

“It's not that simple, Shiro, and I think you know that,” Lance said, not unkindly. “He's a spirit now, a ghost. It will take some adjustment. Besides, they rarely linger in this world unless there's something in their fate binding them here.”

“What? Like unfinished business?”

“Kinda sorta.” Lance shrugged, stubbing out his cigarette. He continued speaking as he poured himself a coffee, “Usually personal desires aren't the root cause. It's on a more... universal level.”

“Is it me?”

“Huh?”

“Is the reason he's being put through this because of what's happening to me,” Shiro managed, and when Lance didn't say anything in response guilt swept over him. “That makes it worse. He's stuck here because of _me_.”

“Don't,” Lance said sharply, “Don't do that to yourself. This whole shitshow is completely outside of your control, you hear me? Whatever Haggar has up her motheaten sleeve is not your fault. It's not Keith's fault. It's not even my fault. It's not like you invited her into your home all 'hey I don't actually mind if you come in and hex me while I sleep!'”

Shiro chuckled. “I don't talk like that.”

“Humour me,” Lance waved a hand, grinning. “Keith has a to work through right now. I mean, has he even talked to you about how he died?”

“I don't wanna push him,” Shiro mumbled, scratching the back of his head. He didn't bring up the fact he might not be ready to talk about it, either.

“ _Ay_ , Shiro, _ya_! Sometimes you need to push people. Not trynna sound harsh or owt like that, but we're kind of on a time frame here. I'll be honest with you,” Lance leaned forward, “I don't understand the pattern they're working on you with. I don't even understand what the druids are _trying_ to do to you. I know it must be shitty to hear that.”

“At least you were honest,” Shiro said faintly.

“You two need to talk this out before it creates a divide,” Lance said urgently. “I'll uh. I'll help out with stuff as much as you need me to. I could even go hang with him during the day? I'm sure Allura wouldn't bitch about me skipping work too much... You guys are our friends now. I think you're pretty great, and I know Allura does too.”

“That means a lot,” Shiro said softly, and the way their eyes made had some kind of underlying tension underneath it that he didn't really understand. Something shifted in Lance's face then, and he ducked his gaze, cheeks rosy. “We think you're pretty great, too.”

When Lance looked back up at him after a beat, he looked strangely guarded. “Keith is here.”

And then he stood up, looking hesitant as he did so.

Something inside of Shiro told him to get Lance to stay, for him to have a hand in the harmony he and Keith would find together. It seemed important, somewhere deep inside of him, that Lance stay right where he was.

He gave himself over to that instinct, catching Lance's arm before he reached the door and pulling him back down to the table.

“Will you stay?” Shiro asked quietly, and he could hear the muffled sounds of Keith and Allura talking in the shop.

“Why?” Lance asked, voice just as a quiet, eyes burning.

“I want you to,” Shiro replied simply.

Lance settled back into his chair with a slow nod, and tucked a stray curl behind his ear, shifting his dress a little so it settled neatly onto his thighs. Keith emerged through the door only seconds later, looking nervous.

He seemed nonplussed that Lance was present, though, and slid into the chair between the two of them after Lance pulled it out for him silently. Keith didn't say anything, and neither did Shiro. Lance narrowed his eyes.

“ _Hi,_ ” Lance said.

Breaking the quiet seemed to do the trick, because Keith was suddenly talking on a rush, looking between both Shiro and Lance with wide, wet eyes. “I'm sorry, this past week... it's just been so weird for me and I know I've been really distant and sometimes I've been pretty mean but I'm just so confused and worried and – ” he breathed deeply “– And I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm so sorry, Shiro.”

“I know you didn't,” Shiro said heavily. “I won't say it's okay... but I understand. I shouldn't have gotten mad at you either. I just don't know how to help you, darling. I want you to let us help you.”

Lance looked mildly surprised at the sentiment of 'us', but he didn't comment on in, just kept his eyes trained on Keith seriously. Keith met his gaze briefly before dropping it to the cigarettes on the table.

“I would die all over again if it meant I could have a smoke right now,” he grumbled.

“I could blow it in your face?” Lance offered with a crooked smile.

“You did not come back from the dead to kill yourself again,” Shiro said, then looked pointedly at Lance, “And you're squandering your witchy lifespan on those things.”

“But they make me look sexy,” Lance pouted.

“Maybe in the nineties,” Shiro quipped, earning himself a raspberry before Lance's expression fell again. “Why do you smoke?” he asked, not in judgement but genuine curiosity.

“It's a pretty dated ritual,” Lance said, smiling fondly. “My grandma used to smoke, ah, _herbal_ concoctions and _y'know_ , we didn't know smoking was bad going back a few centuries. She used to say when you draw in the smoke, it purifies your insides and when you exhale, you can expel the negativity. I suppose tabs aren't _quite_ the same thing, but poisoning my unnaturally preserved body is a small price to pay for killing my demons.”

“What demons? You're the happiest person I know,” Keith said in jest, but Lance's face fell.

“You'd be surprised,” he muttered quietly, then in his usual voice, “Not to drag us down back into the depths of despair but Shiro told me we're the only ones who can see you?”

“Yeah,” Keith said. “Actually. Please blow smoke in my face. It might make this conversation easier.”

“Maybe later if you're nice to me,” Lance grinned, and Shiro's heart jumped happily at the answering smile that spread across Keith's face.

“So what makes us so special?” Shiro asked. “Why is it just us?”

“It may not be. Remember what we said about anchors the other day – you have to be a witch, or some kind of supernatural being in order to have the magical capacity to keep the spirit tethered,” Lance said.

“Yeah...?” Shiro said slowly. He wasn't sure he liked where this was going.

“Do you think it's just a happy coincidence that the only other two people that can see you, Keith, are _witches_?”

“You're not seriously implying Shiro is a witch,” Keith said, leaning back in his chair.

“No, no, no,” Lance laughed, “you're definitely _not_ a witch, big guy. I mean, for one your bone structure is all wrong.”

“Uh, should I be offended?” Shiro frowned.

“Witches are finely boned creatures, and you sir, are a mountain of a man,” Lance said haughtily. Keith sniggered, and Shiro sputtered indignantly. Lance offered them both a faint smile before continuing, “Joking aside, what Haggar and her little cronies have been doing to you has been changing you. On a biological level. I don't know where the fuck she managed to get the firepower to do that, but it can't be anything good.”

They had discussed this before. Briefly. Shiro had just passed it off as speculation, yet now they had evidence pointing towards it being the truth. He didn't _feel_ any different, he hadn't noticed any changes in himself, and the idea that it was so subtle it would go undetected was terrifying.

Control was something Shiro valued in his life. It was how he dealt with everything; it made him feel like he had a grip on reality.

This wasn't the reality he was used to.

“Takashi?” Keith said, tentative.

“I'm scared,” said Shiro as he looked up at them, knowing the fear on his face was thinly veiled. “I don't know what's happening to me and it scares me.”

“I'll – _we'll_ be here,” Lance said firmly. “Allura and I. Every step of the way. All of us are tied to this. My cousin and I, through our past, and now through you two in our present. And we've found, as time has slipped past us, that there is safety in numbers. That will benefit all of us. Haggar has her coven, but she works alone.”

“You seem to know a lot about how she works,” Keith said, and Lance stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“I think that's a story for another day,” came Allura's voice from the doorway, and they turned to look at her. She was wearing a flowing maxi-dress of dusky pink, looking effortlessly effervescent with her pale hair twisted into a bun. As she walked into the courtyard, Shiro noticed she was barefoot like Lance usually was and didn't seem to care about getting her feet dirty. Now that he thought about it, he'd never actually seen any dirty footprints on their pristine white carpets.

 _Magic,_ his mind offered unhelpfully.

“There is a way we can figure out what's happening to you, though, if you don't mind me butting in,” she added.

“Anything you think will help,” Shiro said earnestly.

“Wonderful,” Allura said smoothly, then she smiled widely at him with a fairly terrifying glint to her eyes. “Shiro, I'll need some _blood._ ”

**

As it turned out, the procedure in wasn't as scary as Allura's intensity about it had led Shiro to believe, but Keith still watched on nervously as Allura looped an elastic tie around Shiro's wrist, prodding his arm for a vein as she held a wickedly sharp needle in her hand.

“You're not going to take too much are you?” Keith mumbled, looking paler than usual. _He had never been able to stand the sight of blood_ , Shiro thought, _I wonder how he deals with looking at himself._ It had certainly taken some adjustment for Shiro to stop letting his gaze trail down to the wounds over his chest and keep his eyes trained on Keith's face instead. Sometimes he forgot they were even there now.

“I'm a witch, not a vampire,” Allura replied dryly, before carefully pushing the needle into Shiro's fleshy inner arm.

She only took one vial, and left with it to the kitchen once she'd unceremoniously taped a cotton bud over the mark. Lance lounged, unaffected, on the sofa with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, and they both moved to sit on either side of him as they waited patiently for Allura's verdict.

“So, what's she doing with it?” Keith asked, after several long minutes ticked by.

“Oh it's a super easy test,” Lance shrugged. “Each of us – supernaturals, that is – have weirdly specific weaknesses.”

“Like what?” Shiro prompted.

“Mistletoe is harmless enough for witches who don't use dark magic, but it'd put a nasty dint in a druid's power,” Lance said, “Silver for vampires, reapers 'n shapeshifters, that wouldn't be a good time for any of those guys.”

Shiro leaned forward, curious. “What about witches?”

Lance smiled widely, “Iron.”

“I didn't know that,” Keith said, brows raised.

“Supposedly we're descended from the fair folk, who in turn were from the bloodlines of _Tuatha de Danaan_ ,” Lance puffed out his chest, clearly proud of his lineage but it was lost on Shiro. He noticed his blank stare, and clarified, “The Tribe of the Gods. They were Irish.”

“You're Irish?” Keith blinked in surprise, “I thought you were Spanish.”

“Cuban, technically. But we're going back donkey's years here. Irish, mainly from dad,” Lance waved a non-committal hand, “And Allura's granddad on her mam's side is from India.”It was clear he didn't wanna hear any more about it, from his tone of voice, so he dropped it.

Shiro was intrigued by their rich history. He resolved to ask Lance and Keith more about their families when things had settled down. It was a world beyond his own and the less terrifying aspects of it were endlessly fascinating to him – it still sent him reeling with both pride and confusion both whenever Keith spoke candidly about his magic, and when he saw Lance and Allura perform their own.

Allura clattered about in the kitchen, then Lance sat up straight when a short, “Hmm,” reached their ears from the room over.

“Care to share?” he drawled, then jerked his chin and Shiro and Keith to follow him as they trailed into the kitchen.

Allura was stood with her back to them, a blue apron looped around her neck, she spared them a glance over her shoulder. “Definitely not a witch. In fact, we've narrowed down our list considerably.”

Shiro swallowed audibly. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

“A bit 'o both, honestly,” Allura said as she turned to face them, holding up the petridish in a gloved hand. What had once been fresh, scarlet blood, now slid slowly in a coagulated murky brown sludge in the clear disk, still bubbling sluggishly in some places.

“Oh, gross,” Keith said faintly, averting his eyes. Shiro wondered, briefly, if ghosts could vomit because he looked close to doing exactly that.

“Uh. It definitely didn't look like that when you took it,” Shiro managed, feeling his stomach roll unpleasantly. “Why does it look like that?”

Allura placed the dish back down on the counter carefully, and removed her gloves, dropping them into the bin with clinical precision. Leaning back against the top, she held her palm out flat to Lance with a dark look in her eyes. Lance fumbled with his back pocket for a moment, before fishing out the cigarettes while Shiro was left to wonder if they had some weird psychic-cousin thing going on with the amount of times he'd witnessed nonverbal communication between them.

She kicked open the back door, and once she was stood in the doorway, she lit it and blew out smoke heavily.

“I put a single link from a silver chain in your blood. That's what happened after two minutes of exposure,” she said quietly.

“ _Two_ minutes?” Lance gasped, at the same time as Shiro wheezed out –

“ _Silver_?”

“So... not a witch, or a druid,” Keith said when neither Lance nor Allura seemed inclined to offer any further comment. “But two minutes is way too short of a time for _that_ to happen.”

Lance glanced at him, vaguely impressed. When his eyes lingered on Keith, he bristled, biting out a defensive, “ _What_? I know _some_ stuff.”

Shiro ignored the exchange, looking up at Allura nervously. “So if I'm not a witch, or a druid... what exactly am I?”

“Well!” Allura said brightly, “Here's the good news. Only a handful of supernaturals react to silver. Although, none quite like you have. This is an excessive case. I'd suggest throwing out any and all silver in your house wearing very thick gloves, mister,” she added. “But this means we are moving forward in figuring out exactly what Haggar wants you for.”

“How? You don't even know which I am,” Shiro frowned.

She faltered, exchanging a brief look with Lance. “All of them... well, they're what we call ever so eloquently, harbingers of death.”

“Oh,” Shiro's breath escaped him on the single word, and he held onto the counter. Keith hovered close to his side, setting him at ease to feel him so close, and he found himself relaxing even further when Lance's warm palm settled on his shoulder comfortingly.

“So, what? They want a guard dog or something? Spit it out! What are we working with here,” Keith snapped impatiently, but his eyes were fixed strangely on the point of contact between Shiro and Lance. When he didn't look away, Shiro shifted awkwardly and shrugged the hand off.

“Vampires, shapeshifters, reapers and ghouls,” Lance said after clearing his throat, stepping to move closer to his cousin. “All of which are pretty much extinct at this point, or at the very least impossibly rare. Haggar must be tapping into some serious mojo to be on the way to reviving an entire species. Honestly, at this point I'm amazed you never even noticed the changes in you, Takashi.”

Once again, Shiro was left flummoxed by Lance's near-constant use of his first name. It did strange things to his tummy, especially after only hearing it tumble from Keith, or his mother's, lips for most of his life. It was unusual that he felt comfortable letting someone who wasn't his family call him by it.

“See, I imagine if you were a vampire you'd be pretty thirsty,” Lance said. “Been craving something a little harder than whisky at all lately?”

“No,” Shiro grumbled, the fluttering feeling evaporating as quickly as it came in the face of Lance's poorly timed jokes. “What else would I notice for – for the others?”

“I think a ghoul might be out of the question,” Allura offered.

“Why?” Keith asked.

“Because they're reanimated dead bodies. Zombies with a conscience, if you will,” she replied.

“Ok, so no ghouls,” he nodded, smiling encouragingly at Shiro.

“Shapeshifter would make sense,” Lance said, seriously this time. “I don't even know what she'd use a reaper for. Psychopomps aren't exactly warfare material, pretty peaceful people from the ones I've met. A shapeshifter though? They can do some damage, and you wouldn't even feel like one until something triggered you to change.”

“Okay,” Allura nodded. “We'll run with that.” She looked down at the disk on the counter with pursed lips, “I was thinking, in theory of course, if you're blood reacted this intensely to silver then it might be working as a balancing aid of sorts. If Haggar is altering your biology, who knows what the side effects of your new magic would be? Extraordinarily powerful supernaturals tend to have more severe reactions to what can hurt them.”

“That actually... makes a lot of sense,” Lance said.

“I wonder what you'll be able to turn into?” Keith wondered, smiling up at Shiro. “A bird?”

“A _bird_?” Shiro protested, a laugh surprised out of him.

“Yeah! Like a huge fuckoff eagle of something,” Lance agreed eagerly.

“No way,” Keith shook his head. “He'd definitely be something awesome like a vulture.”

“A _vulture_?” Shiro sputtered, mildly insulted.

Lance grinned. “Alright, you little emo, whatever you say.”

“Vultures are really cool and super intelligent,” Keith insisted, staring up at him defiantly.

Shiro sighed, looking over to Allura for some help in this but she just shrugged with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Don't I get a say in this?” he said, cutting through their bickering.

“No,” they said, eerily in unison, before delving back into their argument.

“I like hawks,” he muttered under his breath.

**

After a while, they all made their way back into the studio room and settled on the seats with steaming cups in front of them, bar Keith. Shiro kept his mug clutched between his hands, still feeling shaken from the recent discoveries that had come to light.

When he came back to himself, he found another serious conversation being exchanged before him between Allura and Lance. Keith watched them with hesitation thick on his face.

“It's time we called them,” Allura was saying, determined.

“I don't wanna rush into anything. Besides, we don't know how they'll react to Keith. What if they think we're covering up something – like we did this?” Lance frowned, shaking his head. “It's shoot first, ask questions later with Shay. And you _know_ how Hunk feels about necromancy!”

“They're thinking about calling the Balmerans,” Keith said quietly, leaning in close to Shiro. “They're the supernatural peacekeepers. _My_ mother called them witch hunters.” He looked up at Shiro with thinly-veiled fear, worrying at his bottom lip. He wished he could thumb it out from between those sharp canines, like he always used to, hating it when Keith caught them on the delicate skin and making it bleed. It probably wouldn't bleed now. Keith didn't have any blood pumping through his veins any more.

“It's gone too far, _primo_!” Allura exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “She's broken over a dozen laws at least. Human experimentation? Necromancy? These are no joking matters. She needs to be stopped.”

“ _We_ can stop her,” Lance insisted. “Please, Allura, don't do this. I don't want the blame to fall to us, you know Haggar is an expert at shifting it to the innocent.”

Allura shook her head sadly, taking his hand in her own. “Lance... you know I listen to your advice in everything, and I usually heed it. But this time you're wrong. We need to call them. It's time for an intervention. We can't do this on our own.”

Shiro interrupted when Lance opened his mouth to speak his dissent again, “What would happen... if they thought you did this to us?”

“Execution,” Lance said bitterly.

“Then explain it all before they see us. It's not like we have to be here when they arrive, right?” Shiro shrugged.

“Yeah...” Lance nodded, “Yeah. Okay. But if this all goes tits up, don't say I didn't warn you.”

Allura just rolled her eyes, before retreating up the spiral staircase they sat in the corner of the room sharpish, phone in hand.

“We should probably go home,” Keith said after a beat, and Lance smiled at him, nodding.

“I'll shoot you a text with whatever happens, Takashi,” Lance said as he walked them to the front door. They both waved at him, shuffling down the alleyway back into town. “And Keith?” he called out, and Keith turned to look at him, brows raised expectantly. “Don't be a stranger. You know I'm here to talk when you need it.”

Keith nodded, ducking his head in a way that was uncharacteristically shy. Shiro watched him, bemused, as they set off walking again. And when they made it back to the flat, he turned to ask him what it was all about but instead found the words die on the tip of his tongue when he found Keith staring up at him with dark eyes, liquid and hooded in the way they used to when he – when he –

“We could,” Keith murmured, demure, before adding, “Try something.”

“What?” Shiro floundered.

“We could try something,” he repeated. His eyes tracked down Shiro's body, making him shiver with the intensity burning behind them. Keith licked his lips, taking an audible breath before whispering, “You could let me watch you.”

Shiro felt a helpless flush creep up his cheeks, and Keith backed him through the apartment purposefully until they tumbled through the bedroom door. He stumbled back, falling onto the mattress when Keith continued to crowd him.

He stopped when he was stood between Shiro's legs, so close yet so impossibly far and still lighting a fire in Shiro's veins even after all this time.

“It's been a while,” Shiro said, cautionary.

Keith just nodded. “I know.”

They seemed to be at some kind of stalemate, neither of them willing to make the first move. Keith stared him out, violet eyes shimmery in the low light of the evening. He had the swell of his bottom lip caught between his teeth again, but this time Shiro had no inclination to tug it free, because the action matched with that expression had made him so _so_ weak countless times in his life.

“ _Please_ ,” Shiro finally relented, “Tell me what to do.”

“Take your top off, for a starter,” Keith smirked, moving to sit on the bed behind him. Shiro turned, following him instinctively. He kneeled as he pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it to the side carelessly. As soon as it hit the floor, Keith was dishing out another command, “You know what's next.”

Nodding, he unlooped his belt. The clinks of metal were deafening in comparison the quiet of Keith's velvet smooth voice.

When Shiro had stripped down, he suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. He wasn't hard, and he worried that his anxiety over the whole situation would prevent that from happening at all. Keith seemed to sense the change in his mood, and leaned forward, hair falling into his face and framing it in shadows.

“You're so gorgeous, baby,” he purred, “You were always so good for me. You're gonna be good for me now, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Shiro breathed, licking his lips.

“Touch yourself,” Keith said, his voice was liquid gold and Shiro had forgotten how perfect it sounded pitched low and husky, so close to his ear he could pretend he could feel the breath of each word gusting over his cheek. “Close your eyes, imagine it's me.”

Shiro did, letting his eyes drift shut. He placed his hands on the hard planes of his stomach awkwardly, unsure of where to go from there.

“Start with your nipples,” Keith continued, “ _Gently_. I'd – I'd start out how I always did. Give you exactly what you asked for, yeah? Press those soft kisses onto your neck 'n be all slow for you, you loved that, didn't you?”

Breath hitching, Shiro brushed the pads of his fingers over himself, catching the sensitive skin on his callouses until they hardened. It was a poor substitute to Keith's soft, clever fingers but it would do. It had to.

“I'd probably put my hands lower now, because I wouldn't be able to resist,” Keith murmured, and Shiro could hear the smile in his voice. He dragged his palms over the taught skin of his belly, flinching back when they smoothed over the ticklish space between his waist and hips. “Your body is so perfect, and you know? Sometimes I thought I was dreamin' when I had you in front of me, like you are now, too.”

“I'm yours,” Shiro said around a quiet groan. “Always have been. I loved how you touched me – I love how you're here with me now.”

“Yeah. You do. And I'm telling you now to take that pretty cock of yours in your hand. Get yourself nice 'n hard for me, yeah?”

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” Shiro rasped, letting his hands drift further down still. He was half-hard already, just from the lulling cadence of Keith's voice and the feel of his hands against his own body. Self-love in the most intimate sense was not something he'd done a whole lot of (or at all) over the past few months. It felt lonely and wrong, and made him more sad than it did relazed.

Shiro palmed his dick softly, eyelashes fluttering with the determination to stay closed. When he was fully hard, he licked his palm crudely and revelled in the moan he received from Keith for it, taking himself in hand, jacking himself leisurely.

Once he was fully hard, he tightened his fingers and made a low, wanting noise. He needed Keith to talk again, to feel less alone in this. Keith obviously got the memo because he chuckled quietly before he was talking again, “I want you to imagine me – I'd be opposite you while you did this. Opening myself up so well for you while you watched, because you always liked that, liked to know once I was done making a show for you, once I was done teasing you, I'd let you fuck me.”

Keith's tongue clipped around the work 'fuck' sensually, speaking the word as though it was the act itself and Shiro couldn't help the bitten back sound that escaped him.

“No, let me hear you,” Keith reprimanded. “And do it quicker, because at this point I'd be on you. Can you see it? Remember how I'd ride you – I'd never do it slow and careful, would I?” Shiro shook his head, panting, could see the scene in his mind's eye. “It'd always be quick 'n dirty, but still so good for us. I knew what would get us there.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro choked out, precum spurting weakly over his tight fist, the soft slap of his movements growing slicker by the second. His hips were bucking, chest heaving as he pictured it all in front of him: Keith's lean, whipcord thighs on either side of him, flexing as he fucked himself down onto Shiro's cock. His hand was a weak facile of the way Keith's body would be gloving him, hot and wet and tight, but his imagination was enough to fuel to fantasy beyond physical sensations.

“Shiro,” Keith said, simply. He loved his name of Keith's lips. “My legs would be getting tired at this point, and you'd start getting handsy. You'd be fucking me harder, while I lost control.”

“Y – yeah, you feel _so_ good, darling,” Shiro whined, his fingers tightening over his cockhead in a way that made him cry out and fuck up into his hand haplessly, giving himself over to it desperately. The edge was racing towards him, his toes curling where they were tucked up under his thighs and high keens colouring his gasps on ever exhale.

“You close?” Keith rasped out. Shiro just groaned in response. “Open your eyes. Look at me when you come.”

Shiro didn't know if he could handle that. If he saw Keith now, he'd want to touch him instead of playing at it. But he had to remind himself this wasn't just about him. Keith needed this just as much as he did, and if the only thing he was asking for was Shiro's pleasure and to have his eyes open while he surrendered himself to it, then he would give it.

Letting his eyes flutter open, he sighed happily at the sight of Keith's blown out pupils and half-open mouth just a heartbeat away from his face. He held fast to his cock, tightening his grip around the head and circling the shaft loosely on the downstroke as he chased after release.

In the end, it was Keith's husky voice, both a blessing and a curse, that sent him flying off the edge, “Just _look_ at you, so desperate for it. Your cock was _made_ to be fucked, baby.”

Shiro cried out, hips stuttering as he came, his orgasm ripping through him and almost taking him by surprise. Toes curled against the sheets, his chest heaved as his settled and slowly came back to himself. It really had been a while. Exhaustion sunk deep into his bones, and he looked up after a moment to himself to see Keith was breathing hard too, looking down at the mess on the blanket with a conflicted expression.

“What about...?” Shiro said, hesitant.

“What about me?” Keith finished, a little furrow appearing between his brows when he met Shiro's eyes. “I can't.”

Shiro stared at him, perplexed. “Can't what?”

“I can't get hard,” he clarified, a note of bitterness in his voice. “And believe me I've fuckin' _tried_. It just doesn't happen any more.”

“Did you enjoy it, though?” Shiro asked hopefully, needing to know that Keith was seeking gratification from what they'd just done, too. He didn't like the idea of it being _entirely_ one-sided.

“I'd enjoy anything with you,” Keith said by way of answer. “I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to join in, but I get more than you know from this. Makes me feel close to you.”

That made sense. Keith had always been the sort of person who fared well on the currency of touch, he had always appreciated the way Shiro's hands could speak his love just as well as his words. But now all Keith had were his words, and a husband who couldn't hold him when he needed it. Shiro wondered, in his naïvety, if they would ever be able to grow accustomed to this new dynamic.

“I feel close to you, as well,” Shiro murmured, lying down so he was facing Keith almost nose-to-nose. He would give up the world if it meant he could feel Keith's lips against his in that moment, post-coital stupor filling his brain with chemicals that screamed their desire to be held.

Keith squeezed his eyes shut, breath stuttering painfully in his chest.

“It will get easier,” Shiro said quietly.

“It will never get easier,” Keith choked out, scarlet tears staining his cheeks that Shiro wanted nothing more than to wipe away. “Never. It hurts so much, Takashi, so much and I – ”

“ _God_ , Keith, I know. I _know_.”

“This will be the hardest part. It will,” Keith said, visibly steeling himself. “But I swear on every _fucking_ God out there that I am going to protect you. I am going to keep you safe.”

“You do,” Shiro breathed, shifting a little closer. Dangerously close. “You are.”

“We'll make it through this. It doesn't mean it will get any easier, but we will. I'm so sorry I acted like we wouldn't,” he said. Shiro felt a swell of pride at the sudden change in his attitude towards the situation, and couldn't help but attribute some of the breakthrough to Lance.

He found himself slipping in a doze before Keith's whisper roused him, “Baby.”

He grumbled out a questioning noise in response.

“You need to take off your arm. And shower.”

“Tomorrow,” he mumbled.

“That's the worst idea ever, and you know it,” he could practically hear his husband rolling his eyes.

“Yah,” he said, noncommital.

“ _Shiro_.”

Shiro cracked open an unwilling eye, getting a facefull of Keith's disapproving frown. Groaning, he sat up and grimaced at the mess on himself. Yeah. A shower was definitely the order of the day. Rolling his shoulder, he reached up and was about to go about sorting out his prosthetic before he heard his phone trill from where it was settled in his jeans on the floor.

He reached down for it, and showed Keith the screen with his lips pressed into a thin line.

 

**From Lance:**

_Monday. 9PM. They want to meet you._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please consider leaving kudos/comment if you enjoyed reading!  
> you can find me on tumblr at [eatjamfast!](eatjamfast.tumblr.com)
> 
> as always, here's a snippet:
> 
>  
> 
> **Chapter Four: Secrets Untold**  
>  _Bloody tears tracked down Keith's cheeks and he shook his head rapidly. When he looked up again, his face was twisted with grief. A fierce determination burned in his eyes, and he spoke through clenched teeth, “I swear to God we'll make them pay. They will fucking burn for what they've done to you.”_
> 
>  
> 
> (Housekeeping note here -- i'm a bit behind on chapter drafting/editing because i'm having to move back to england pretty unexpectedly so update might not be for a week/fortnight or so xx)
> 
> **EDIT 12/MAY: still chipping away at the next couple of chapters. they will be posted, writing/editing has just been slowgoing!**


	4. Secrets Untold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloody tears tracked down Keith's cheeks and he shook his head rapidly. When he looked up again, his face was twisted with grief. A fierce determination burned in his eyes, and he spoke through clenched teeth, “I swear to God we'll make them pay. They will fucking burn for what they've done to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally...….I finished...…. this chapter... why is it so long..….also not the way it was meant to go but i refuse to go back on this one any more so! thanks for waiting, i hope it's alright for you guys after the long update time x 
> 
> no new tags for this one.

 

Lance sat behind the till, and Shiro watched him as he flicked little blue fireballs at the candles dotted around the shop before putting them out again with projectile water droplets. The faint fizzle and puff of flames igniting and extinguishing was rhythmic, but was getting pretty annoying.

The meeting with the Balmerans was tomorrow.

They hadn't made any progress by way of research, and had very little proof of their situation to present to them. Everyone was on edge; frustrated of having nothing to show for their troubles except for a vial of rancid blood.

Frowning, Shiro picked through a box of overpriced elephant charm necklaces, the soft sounds of Lance's magic doing little to calm his nerves as he waited for Allura to fetch him.

Day after day, she was trying new spells and rituals and exercises in an attempt to figure out what the fuck kinda creature he was turning into. His reaction to silver was still the _only_ solid evidence to his change they had.

Everyone was keeping a little _too_ close of an eye on him for his liking.

“What food would you eat right now – if you could eat?” Lance asked suddenly, and Shiro looked up to see the question was directed at a bored-looking Keith.

“If I even think about food right now, I might cry,” Keith muttered. “Every time you,” he glowered at Shiro, “Cook your tea a little bit of me dies.”

“Do you get, like... hungry?” Lance said, leaning forward curiously. He didn't often get a chance to have conversations about the intricacies of ghost life, given the only times he got to talk to the dead was during meetings with customers.

Keith pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. “It's not like normal hunger. It's more of a craving. At the minute I would die all over again for a Maccy's.”

“You said the same thing about having a cig,” Lance said flatly. “You would not _die_ for a McDonalds.”

“You bet your sweet ass I would,” Keith retorted.

Shiro laughed, shooting Lance a grin, “Don't underestimate Keith's love of junk food.”

“Dude you have, like, zero percent body fat how is that even possible?”

“Dude,” Keith mocked, “I have, like, zero percent _body_ how is _that_ even possible?”

Lance's eyes widened a fraction before he threw back his head, laughing loud and pretty. Keith grinned, catching his bottom lip with his teeth as he looked at Lance's outburst.

Then he caught Shiro's eye, and smirked a little. Shiro flushed, averting his eyes.

Keith certainly had enough of a body to reopen old doors in their relationship, and had been taking advantage of that with increasing frequency. It still hurt, in a distant way – the one-sidedness of it – but it was getting easier.

Allura wandered in, and Shiro's awkward laughter trailed off at the serious expression on her face. She fiddled with the handle of her coffee mug, perfectly manicured fingernails clinking against it as she seemed to steel herself.

“I want to try something,” she said quietly.

“Okay,” Shiro said instantly, and Keith was up in an instant.

“Do you have something new?” his voice was eager.

Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair. “It might be nothing at all,” she drew out her words, careful not to get his hopes up, “But it might help strengthen that energy field Lance helped you create.”

Lance rolled his eyes, “It's pretty damn strong, Allura. The druids are overdue a visit now. You think that's all a coincidence?”

“Nothing about this situation is coincidental,” she said sharply, catching herself then sighing again. Allura hesitated before she continued, her blue eyes flickering between the three of them. “I was given the spell by someone I've been in contact with. I'd politely decline you ask who he is – ”

“Who is it?” Lance interrupted.

Allura licked her lips. “He's a Galran.”

“You say that like it's an insult,” Keith mumbled, and Allura flashed him an apologetic smile.

“He deserves to have it applied to him as such,” she said. “But he has been there for me when I've needed him. I value his input and he has my trust... although, I'm not sure he deserves it.”

Lance watched her through narrowed eyes, before they widened. “You _didn't_. Allura, you – ”

“We're running out of options, _primo_ ,” she said sharply. “I don't see you coming up with anything else.”

“But Lotor? _Seriously_?” he said, appalled.

“I'd rather you had just lied,” Shiro grumbled. “You guys aren't exactly instilling me with confidence here.”

Allura widened her arms with a fluid shrug,“I'm hoping he will play a part in the bigger picture.”

“Haggar's son, though?” Keith piped up, “Whatever you have planned for him better be good because his rep isn't exactly stellar, even to outsiders.”

“You wanna cast a spell on me that Haggar's _son_ gave you?” Shiro asked incredulously, staring at Allura. She had _got_ to be kidding.

“I second that,” Lance added. “It just seems too risky.”

“You know he's not on her side,” Allura insisted. “The spell checks out, I swear I wouldn't touch Shiro with a ten foot pole if it didn't.”

Lance grit his teeth, shaking his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

They seemed to be at some kind of stalemate, staring hard at one another, not budging on their resolves. Shiro looked over to Keith, who seemed to be siding with Lance if the furious set to his jaw was anything to go by.

At the end of the day, the meeting was tomorrow.

They were running out of options, and the last thing Shiro wanted was for the cousins to be accused of necromancy by the Balmerans. God knows what they'd do with Keith if that were the case.

_Protect Keith. Protect Lance. Protect Allura. How bad can one little spell be?_

“I'll do it.”

“ _Shiro_ – ”

“ _Takashi_ – ”

“I'll do it,” Shiro said firmly. “What do we do?”

He turned to Allura, who nodded seriously at him. She gestured to the studio, leading him into the back after closing the door on Lance and Keith. The beaded curtain clattered against it noisily, but didn't drown out their imploring calls of his name again.

“It's just a simple energy exchange,” she said finally. “I give you a little something, you give me some back.”

“I'm not a witch. Can I even do that?” Shiro frowned.

“No, you're not, but you _are_ a supernatural being. It'll not be much different to what you and Lance did the other week. In fact, it will be _less_ intense. We won't need to meditate too deeply on it. You've already got the foundations of your energy field down.”

She seemed reluctant to say any more, and sat down cross-legged on the floor. She nodded to the space in front of her, and Shiro mirrored her position.

Taking his hands so they were resting palm-to-palm, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

Shiro watched her with bated breath as she muttered something that sounded ancient and young all at once. He gasped, almost jerking away from her when he felt the space where their skin touched begin to warm up. It increased in heat gradually along with whatever words she was weaving, until he felt like he'd dumped them in a particularly hot bath.

It should have felt comforting, but the sting of it never alleviated.

Allura opened her eyes, and Shiro gaped, attempting to wrench his hands away but they were stuck in position.

“A – Allura, your – ”

“My what?” she said impatiently, still keeping up a steady flow of heat between them.

“Those _marks_ ,” he said in awe once his knee-jerk reaction had settled down. There were two stripes of pale pink that pulsed with light, right under the outside corner of each of her eyes. “What are they?”

Allura frowned at him, “You've seen them before, haven't you?”

“No!”

“Lance's were there when you were working with him,” she said, rolling her eyes like she didn't have time for him freaking out over the fact _her face was glowing_.

“My eyes were shut,” Shiro protested weakly, unable to stop himself from ogling at the little pink slashes. Were Lance's pink, too? Were they in the same place? What shape were they? Shiro thought that blue or white would suit Lance best.

“Shiro. _Focus_.”

“Right, uh. Sorry.”

The silence stretched on between them for a long time, so he focused on the point of contact, keeping himself open. He cast his mind back to how relaxed he'd felt, how his spirit welcomed Lance's power back then. It wasn't as easy to loosen up given this was Allura, and she wasn't offering him any words of benediction.

The heat pulsed once, twice.

Shiro wondered if it was uncomfortable for her, too. The heat licked at his palms, and a dull pain throbbed up his arm.

“I'm going to give you some protective magic. In return, _you_ give _me_ whatever feels natural,” Allura finally said, her voice soft. “I'll be able to make use of it somehow.”

“How?” he asked, just as quiet. He was beginning to feel jittery, a low-level anxiety that made him light headed. The heat she was pushing into him was unlocking something inside of himself that he wasn't ready to open just yet.

Whispers in the back of his mind told him to end it, to stop whatever she was doing but he _trusted_ Allura. So he ignored them.

“I'm an alchemist. I'll figure something out,” she said. She sounded soothing, but that uneasy feeling was swelling inside of his chest, cresting to new heights and he barely managed to process her words.

He somehow knew, distantly, that anything he could give her would be wrong. She said to give whatever felt natural but nothing about him was natural. His energy, his magic, would _infect_ her. And yet she was still pushing her power into him, that insufferable heat. She was hurting him. She was _hurting_ him. This wasn't _protective_.

The whispering got louder, until it was a cacophony in his head, and he just wanted it _over_.

She wanted his _power_? She could _take_ it. So he gave her whatever felt _natural_.

Allura yelped loudly, yanking her hands back and severing the flow of magic.

Shiro blinked back to himself, the light hurting his eyes when he opened them. Allura whimpered, clutching her hands to her chest like he'd burned her. Which wasn't true at all, because _she_ was the one who'd been burning _him_.

“What's wrong?” he asked, panicked. She wasn't opening her eyes, and pained sounds escaped her on every exhale, her chest heaving as her marks guttered out weakly.

She didn't respond, and he reached out to shake one of her shoulders. “ _Allura_!”

Allura's eyes snapped open, unseeing, and she screamed.

He could smell something acrid, and he saw his hand was digging into her flesh with clawed fingernails, staining her glossy brown skin a grimy black.

And she was still _screaming_ , a horrible blood-curdling thing. He let go, sharpish, and stood up.

Then she clocked him, her eyes filled with fear. Her bottom lip trembled, and she was still pressing her hands to her chest, still staring up at Shiro like she'd never seen him in her life before that moment.

Shiro looked down at that awful hand, the one with the claws in utter confusion, and looked over to find Allura scrambling away from him on the floor.

“Allura?” he said, faintly. “What's happening?”

“Lance! Keith! Get _in_ here,” she bellowed, and flung her arm out to the side, throwing the door open with her magic. He had never heard Allura shout before. Nor had he ever heard genuine fear in her voice.

But then again, Shiro'd never had _claws_ before so she had a pretty good case for yelling.

Lance was the first in the room, closely followed by Keith.

He began to say something, but his voice tapered off into a strangled gasp when he caught sight of Shiro, jaw dropping.

“What did you _do_ to him!” Keith roared, his voice fierce. He was at Shiro's side in an instant, and Lance was hot on his heels.

Allura stayed where she was.

“There's something wrong with _him_ ,” she said, barely above a whisper. “There's something wrong with his _energy_. It's wrong. Not natural.”

Lance made a derisive sound, placing a hesitant hand on Shiro's shoulder, giving it an experimental squeeze.

Looking down at her sandals, Allura started shaking her head, “It was just an exercise. I was trying to help. But he just – I just – I don't – ” her voice wobbled, and for one horrifying second Shiro thought she was going to cry. Then she squared her shoulders and looked at them all with red-rimmed eyes that were valiantly holding back tears.

When she stopped curling in on herself, Shiro could see that sooty hand print on her shoulder. Her hands were both mottled in purple-blue bruises. Guilty, he averted his eyes and shrugged off Lance's comforting hand.

“It was supposed to be a protective measure,” she continued steadily. “I've never... Lance, I've never felt anything like that before. Let alone seen anything like this, I don't – ”

“It's okay,” Lance said, hushed. He moved to her side, and Shiro felt the loss of his easy presence acutely. “Just breathe.”

“It was at the end of the exchange,” she rasped. “It hurt. His magic is _wrong_.”

Shiro felt those words like a punch in the gut. He knew it was going to hurt her, but ignored his instincts. How could he have let this happen? What was happening to him? What had the druids done that could disturb _Allura_ of all people?

Keith took in a deep breath next to him, and Shiro looked down to meet his gaze with wide, confused eyes. Keith just shook his head, once. He looked afraid, but not of Shiro, which was an immense relief.

“Takashi? How do you feel?” Lance said sharply. “Any different?”

“No,” he said emphatically. “Please, just tell me what the _fuck_ is going on.”

“Get him a mirror,” Keith suggested.

“Is it – is it like my hand?” Shiro managed, “Is it bad?”

Allura fumbled around in her handbag where it was resting on the coffee table. She pulled out a compact, flipped it open and directed it towards him.

“Baby...” Keith said carefully when Shiro gave them no response, staring at himself.

There were no words.

His breath was stolen as he kept his eyes trained on his reflection. Or, what looked like his reflection.

It was hazy, like he'd been blurred around the edges. A shock of white hair was splayed out against his sweaty forehead. Touching his fingers to it, he frowned. It didn't feel any different; still thick and a little bit stiff in texture except now it was fucking _white_.

His sclera were filled with an inky darkness that seemed to glow which was impossible because it was black, and black can't glow. The most shocking part of whatever in high hell he'd turned into, and the least subtle change – which was saying something – was the flat gold than had taken over his iris.

There was no pupil, only liquid yellow that was _terrifying_. Unlike the black of his eyes, the gold didn't reflect. It was like it was sucking in all the light, leaving his expression dead and awful.

Allura was right. This wasn't natural.

Finally, he turned away from the mirror.

Keith was biting his lip anxiously, and Lance shifted in anticipation for his reaction. Allura was still standing a substantial distance away from him.

“I've never seen anything like this before,” Lance said, his voice hesitant. “I've never seen _anyone_ like this before.”

“This is all my fault,” said Keith, and they all turned to him in shock.

“If anyone is to blame, it is me,” Allura managed. “If I'd have known – ”

“How could _any_ of us have known?” Shiro said. He felt surprisingly calm, almost heavy in his detachment from it all.

He wanted to ask if Allura was okay, if he'd hurt her badly, but the words caught in the back of his mouth and choked him. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't Keith's fault. He didn't know what to think. His entire life was spiralling out of control, and he didn't have anyone to point fingers at because no one was to _blame_.

Well, strictly speaking there was. But Haggar was about as easy to catch as smoke with your bare fucking hands. They had no leads. They didn't know what he was. They didn't know what the druids wanted from him. They didn't even know how those goddamn cronies of hers were getting into their home in the first place.

Chest heaving, he grabbed onto the closest thing next to him – Keith – and used him as leverage to keep upright.

His breath wheezed out of him pathetically as Keith gasped out a shocked, “What the fuck?”

Keith's hands scrambled to touch him, wrapping around his body tightly to practically take his entire weight while his legs threatened to give out beneath him.

“ _What the fuck_!” Keith repeated, and Shiro squinted down at him, his vision blurry through the exhaustion, darkness creeping in at his peripherals.

Then it clicked.

 _Keith,_ he thought, then everything slipped into darkness.

 

**

The white hair was there to stay, it would seem.

Shiro resigned himself to that fact, albeit mournfully, after stinking out the bathroom with hair dye. He tossed box after box into the bin, until his scalp burned with chemicals and his hairline was stained a dull grey from his efforts.

It wasn't that he particularly hated it. It was new, and Shiro had learned a lot in the past month about tolerating new and strange things in his life.

But the hair seemed to repel any colour he slicked onto it, and every time he caught sight of himself without a hat mashed stubbornly over it, all he could think about was Keith's arms clutching at his waist and the fact he'd hit the deck before he could truly take in how it felt.

Lance said he'd only been out for a few minutes, but his body ached when he had finally stirred and the only thing left to prove the entire transformation had ever happened was that stupid white forelock.

Apparently Allura had managed to snap a picture before the change had receded completely while he was out cold, but Shiro wasn't exactly in a hurry to have a look at it. Although he was relieved to know they had something to show the Balmerans today.

Shiro poked the pasta around his plate morosely, not feeling up to the task of demolishing it in one minute flat like he usually was. Keith was sat opposite, a book laid open in front of him to read as he waited for Shiro to finish eating.

He hadn't even _started_ eating yet.

“Eat it,” Keith said, without looking up from his book. “I don't want you cranky in front of the people that could give us both death sentences.”

“Death sentences?” Shiro echoed, cracking a small smile.

“Har har, very funny, smartass.”

Shiro sighed, but didn't fight him. He shovelled the food in mechanically, not really tasting it.

“It's gonna be okay, you know. I was only joking about the death sentence thing,” Keith said when Shiro finally pushed his plate aside. He'd then gestured to the book, and Shiro flipped the page for him to continue reading.

Quiet settled over them again, and all they had to do was wait.

**

The two men walked up to the Castlegate Magic Shop in tense silence.

Lance was stood outside when they turned the last corner, his token Sobranie perched between his lips as he waved at the two of them. His eyes lingered on Keith, who nodded at him.

“Right on time,” he shot them a smile. Shiro blinked, dazzled.

“Are they here yet?” Keith asked tersely, padding up to him on odd socks.

“Yep,” Lance popped his P. “They're inside.”

He caught the terrified expression on Shiro's face, and patted his arm before flicking his cigarette into the ashtray with freaky precision and walking inside.

Shiro hesitated in the doorway behind the two men, “It's going to be okay, isn't it?”

“Allura has a way with words,” was all Lance said before leading them into the back.

Standing politely next to the coffee table were two strikingly tall people.

The man, who must have been Hunk, turned to face them. His eyes lingered on Keith before he offered them a friendly smile. The woman – Shay – hung back behind him, her expression less friendly but not unkind. She had her glossy black hair pulled into a loose side-braid, and Shiro could see a dagger strapped to her thigh.

“Heya,” Hunk waved at them, speaking in a broad Scottish accent. He stepped forward and offered out his hand.

“Hunk, meet Shiro and his ghost-husband, Keith,” Lance said as Shiro shook his hand.

Keith let out an indignant squawk. “I'm his _husband_ -husband, not his _ghost_ -husband!”

“Whatever helps you haunt at night,” Lance said with a cheeky wink. Keith just rolled his eyes, not taking the bait.

“And this, is his lovely wife, Shay,” Lance continued. She only nodded at them.

“I hear you've got a pretty interesting story to tell,” Hunk said. He looked cheerful enough as he said it, but there was a calculating look to his eye that spoke volumes of a man who shouldn't be underestimated. He reached back to place a comforting hand on Shay's waist and reeled her forward to his side.

“It's nice to meet you,” she said finally, her voice was soft, but Shiro knew that this was a woman who could hold her own. He knew her type, and could see there was power hidden beneath her curves.

Shiro had known many a woman just like her in the military. They made an impressive pair.

“Shall we sit?” Allura offered, and Shiro saw she'd pulled up two extra chairs to the table.

As they all got settled, Shiro couldn't help but notice Allura was still maintaining a safe amount of distance between the two of them.

They hadn't spoken much after he had woken up yesterday, and she wasn't even looking at him directly today. He was frightened of the fact whatever magic Haggar had pumped him full of could turn someone against him within the blink of an eye.

“So, okay, interrupt me at any time,” Hunk began. “You managed to get yourself an Anchor, and have no idea how?” he directed the question at Keith, who nodded slowly. Hunk looked over to Shiro, “And you managed to turn into an entirely different species. And have no idea how?”

“Well, we know Haggar's involved with Shiro's predicament,” Allura interjected quickly. “But as for Keith's summoning? We haven't got any leads as of yet.”

“The druids haven't been since we met Lance and Allura, though. I would have seen them if they had,” Keith explained. “There isn't really a pattern to when they come. Or if there is, I haven't clocked it. Sometimes they'd go weeks without turning up, then they'd stand over him every night for a month straight doing... whatever the fuck they were doing.”

“Could they see you?” Hunk asked curiously, “Like we can?”

“No,” Keith answered. Shiro knew he was anxious, but Keith always did put up a good front. “Nobody could see me before I was brought back.”

“Can't be linked to how you died then, I don't think...” Shay hummed, drumming her fingers on her thigh. She looked pensive, whereas Hunk leaned forwards with an eager expression.

“How did you die?” he asked bluntly.

Keith swallowed, looking away. “I can't talk about it. Even if I could, I don't remember much.”

No matter what Lance had said about needing to push sometimes, a sick kind of relief washed over Shiro. It wasn't just Keith who wasn't ready to have that story out in the open yet.

“That's normal,” Lance offered gently, throwing Hunk a sharp look. “A lot of spirits can't remember exactly how they died. It's why so many of them think they're still alive.”

Keith offered him a small smile, but it was tight around the edges and didn't quite meet his eyes. Lance inclined his head slightly, an acknowledgement and encouragement both.

“Shiro,” Allura said. “We should probably discuss the morning you realised you could see Keith.”

And so they did.

The explanation Shiro, Keith, Lance and Allura wove for the Balmerans was a lengthy one, and contradicted itself in its very existence but the mild-mannered couple took it in regardless. The furrow between Hunk's thick brows deepened with every turn the story took, and as it tapered off to the most recent development, he was leaning forward in his chair agin; running a hand through his hair with a heaving sigh.

He turned to look at Shay, yet neither of them said anything. Shiro's stomach churned unpleasantly as he waited for their response with bated breath.

“You were right to call us,” Shay's quiet voice piped up, after a long silence.“The last spirit and Anchor we met didn't end well. And I have little doubt in my mind Haggar is wholly responsible for Keith's death, or at the very doubt tied to it in some way.”

“Magic _always_ comes with a price,” Hunk said grimly. “It goes _beyond_ the human sacrifice. That's just a single part of the spell. The _real_ clincher is what you offer in return for pushing against the boundaries of nature. It's a give and take, just like the elemental magic these two use.”

“Energy exchange,” Lance said under his breath. “But isn't the exchange the sacrifice?”

“No,” Shay shook her head. “It's like he said. The sacrifice is less of an actual sacrifice, and more of an _ingredient_ in the spell. There's power in blood. The price of bringing a spirit into our realm is usually something bartered by the person who instigates the magic.”

“But we don't have to worry about that, right?” Keith asked sharply. “We didn't do this, so the price is on the head of whoever did.”

“It's likely, but not certain,” Hunk said. “I dunno, man... This whole situation isn't like anything I've ever seen before. It's breaking universal laws I didn't even know _could_ be broken. It's almost like Haggar's controlling the magic instead of working _with_ it.”

Keith cleared his throat, looking between the two Balmerans nervously. “That's... not uncommon.”

“What?”

“Like, bypassing the energy exchange. We can do that.”

“No, you _really_ can't.”

“Just let me explain, I don't know if I'm even _supposed_ to be telling you this, me mam would kill me,” Keith muttered. “It's not impossible. Not for the Galra. I don't know how, but we just can. It's nothing to excessive, and as far as I know it's only elemental magic we don't have to pay a price for. It's just in our blood. Like you said, there's power in blood.”

“How do you know this? You said your mother didn't teach you anything of importance,” Allura said, frowning.

“She didn't need to teach me. It just... happened. I could use fire. I dunno how, and I only ever tried it a couple of times back when I was a teenager but I could. I didn't make me tired no matter how much I made, and I could create it from nothing.”

“This isn't good news.” Hunk paled. “If she figured out how to move beyond just elemental magic then – ”

“Then she could do just about anything she wanted. No consequences,” Lance finished for him.

“She'll tip the balance,” Shay breathed, looking at Hunk in alarm. “There _needs_ to be an exchange. There just – there just _has_ to be I can't even comprehend how it would work without it!”

“It's not exactly something I imagine many Galrans would be telling people,” Keith said.

“She never showed any signs she could do anything of the sort when we lived together,” said Allura, then her eyes widened when Shiro's head snapped up to face her.

“You _what_?”

“Ah,” Allura murmured, wincing. “Cat's out of the bag.”

“You – you're _Galran_?” Keith sputtered.

“No!” Lance exclaimed. “No, we're Altean... But.. our families all lived together back before everything went to shit. Only knew her when we were kids, mind.”

Hunk blew out an awkward breath, slapping his hands on his thighs. “Do you guys need a minute?”

Allura nodded shortly, and the two Balmerans left the room without a fight.

After a minute, Shiro heard the front door click shut and he rounded on them, furious. “How could you not _tell_ us this?”

“It's not important,” Lance said stiffly. “Haggar fucked us over, and we fucked off. End of story.”

“I think there's a little more to the story than that,” Allura muttered.

“Maybe I don't feel like talking about it,” Lance snapped. “Nothing good went our way when we lived under her.”

As Shiro opened his mouth to try and convince him, Keith interrupted, “I understand sometimes it can be hard to – to talk about painful things. But, Lance, any information you guys have could give us clues on how to sort this whole mess out. It might do some good for a fresh pair of ears to listen to your story.”

Shiro looked to Keith in surprise, unused to him sounding so diplomatic. Lance sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. There was something hollow in his gaze as he stared at the carpet, unblinking.

“Lance?” Allura said softly, and his eyes flickered up to hers before returning to the spot on the floor. “I won't talk about it – if you're really that set on not sharing our past with them, but I think they have a right to know given the circumstances.”

A beat.

“I know,” Lance whispered, but he didn't look any more enthused to be talking about it.

“We were just kids,” Allura murmured, “Back in Ireland.”

“Veronica had just turned eight,” Lance looked down to where his fingers were tangled in his lap, twisting together so tightly his skin paled where he grasped at it. “I was fourteen.”

He said it so brokenly, Shiro couldn't do anything but feel cruel for being angry at them, and wondered if it might be wiser to let them keep their secrets a little longer. Partly out of his own fears. Shiro knew this wasn't going to be a pleasant story.

“I had three sisters,” Lance said, after a long and pregnant silence.

_Had, oh God..._

“Veronica, Louisa, and my – my eldest sister, Marisol.” His voice cracked over her name, like it was something he hadn't said in many years and the sound wasn't familiar to his tongue. It probably wasn't. That fracture inside of Shiro's chest deepened when he caught Allura's glassy eyes as she stared out at both of them determinedly.

Lance continued, “Honerva, as we knew her back then. _Haggar_. She was our High Priestess, our leader and mother to everyone she was near. I – _we_ trusted her with our lives.”

“And she took them from us.” Allura's voice was acidic, and there was hatred so raw in there it took Shiro's breath away. “We all lived together. Our entire family – me, Lance, my cousins, my aunt, my uncle, my father, my mother, Coran, Cara, Ricardo.”

Keith shifted on the sofa, clearly not expecting such a long list of people. They exchanged a look.

How many of them had died by Haggar's hand?

Looking at the broken individuals in front of him, it wasn't difficult for Shiro to made a good guess.

“She killed the adults first. My mother and father... then Allura's,” Lance rasped.

“Oh,” Keith said faintly, his eyes glistened with scarlet tears, “Oh, God – Lance – ”

“Then she came after the children,” he interrupted Keith, his voice low and insistent but no less harrowing. “Mari – Marisol, she _saved_ us. Allura and I. She'd been hit, but she still got us out.”

“It took four days for her to die,” Allura said. “That was when we learned to never underestimate Haggar's cruel streak. Four days of agony spelled to repel any attempts to alleviate it. Even death.”

Lance grit his teeth and stared Shiro down, like he had something to prove after all this. He had nothing of the sort. Shiro met his eyes steadily, his head was filled with images of a fourteen year old Lance, listening to his sister beg for death only to find he would be unable to give it to her the moment he caved into her demands.

“So you see,” Allura choked out, taking up Lance's hand and holding it tightly, “Why we resent them so. Only Lance, Coran and I made it out of that hellhole alive.”

Bloody tears tracked down Keith's cheeks and he shook his head rapidly. When he looked up again, his face was twisted with grief. A fierce determination burned in his eyes, and he spoke through clenched teeth, “I swear to God we'll make them pay. They will fucking _burn_ for what they've done to you.”

He had always felt everything so _intensely_ , a fiery hearth of devotion burned deep in Keith. Lance turned to him, eyes red-rimmed and wet as he nodded. A startled gasp escaped him when Keith reached out, taking up his other hand.

The dark skin of Lance's hand a stark contrast to the white-pale of Keith's, they touched for the barest of moments before it slipped away like smoke.

“Keith,” Lance breathed, awed. “H – how?”

Keith just stared at Lance's hand with wide eyes, then up at Shiro. “I don't... I don't know. I was just so _angry_ and then – ” he shrugged, still bug-eyed. “It sometimes happened back when I was invisible, when I broke stuff when I got angry but I've never been able to touch a person before.”

Shiro swallowed, looking between the two men and was confused, conflicted even, when no jealousy came roaring to life in his chest.

“I'm sorry,” Shiro said thickly, fighting off his own tears. “For what she did to you. I'm sorry for making you – making you talk about it.”

“Not as sorry as I am for what she's doing to you now,” Lance murmured. “I won't let them tear another family apart.”

There was the faint chiming of beads rattling and Hunk appeared in the doorway, distracting them. He waved awkwardly, “Sorry to interrupt. Shay 'n I are heading off now. We'll be sticking around, though. I'll keep you posted, Allura can pass on anything important while we're looking into stuff, 'kay?”

“Thank you for your time, Hunk,” Allura said softly, wiping her under eyes carefully before standing. “I'll see you out.”

When she disappeared through the beaded curtain, Lance turned to the two men with a serious expression.

“Don't worry about them,” said Lance. “Shay might be more reserved, but Hunk always hears me out. He'll talk her around.”

“I don't want to see Shiro getting hurt,” Keith said softly. “I don't want to see you getting blamed for something that isn't your fault. Whatever Haggar has planned for us... it's on _me_. It's happening because Mam fucked off and now I'm left to pick up the pieces.”

“Is there no way for you to get in contact with her?” Allura asked from the doorway, curious.

“No. She didn't even tell dad she was leaving,” Keith said.

Lance's voice was quiet, sympathetic, “How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“I'm sorry,” Lance said genuinely.

“It's okay... I just wish I knew _why_? We were happy. I _think_ her and Dad were happy. She wasn't the sort of person who'd just pack up and leave without a trace. Sometimes I think I miss her, then I always remember how torn up dad was about the whole thing and, well, I can't help but _hate_ her.”

“Keith...”

“He wasn't the same after she disappeared,” Keith whispered. “He just kind of gave up on life. Like, he worked and looked after me and I knew he loved me. But sometimes I'd catch him, when he thought he was alone and he'd just be sitting there with this fucking – fucking _empty_ look on his face. It was fucked, man. It was all so, _so_ fucked.”

“Keith, you said Galrans have elemental control,” Allura said suddenly, and he nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

“How do you mean? Forgive me for prying, it's only that the whole thing is very difficult for me to wrap my head around. We've gone all our life exchanging magical energy with the elements to use them it's...” she trailed off, frowning.

“It's fucking weird,” Lance finished for her crudely, he wiped his cheeks and nose with the back of his hand, and the brightness had returned to his expression. Shiro felt the whiplash of Lance's ability to flip from one mood to the next intensely, but wasn't exactly ungrateful for the change in topic. “How do you make it if you're not, ugh, how do I even explain it? Like, if I wanna make the blue fire or use water for anything it's like I reach out and they respond, then I'll give them some of my energy.”

Keith considered his question, and Shiro could practically see the cogs whirring in his mind as he tried to figure out how to explain it. “I get where you're coming from. For me – when I used to try it out – I saw that path you're talking about in my head. But there was another one, like a fork in the road. It was just easier to skip that process. My fire, whatever it was, wherever it came from, was something I just made from myself?”

“It was inside you? You didn't just channel it?” Lance squinted at him. “An innate ability?”

“Too many questions at once,” Keith said, a small smile gracing his face.

“Please don't make a Spanish Inquisition joke,” Lance chuckled. “But seriously, I'm trying to think of something to compare it to... um... ah, telekinesis!”

“Go on,” Keith prompted. Shiro exchanged a bewildered look with Allura, before turning back to them to listen. Mostly he was just glad the four of them had managed to stop crying and talk like they usually did sans doom and gloom.

“So with channelling – it's elements, spirits, emotions and all that shit. It's all about the exchange of energy, and that's why it made me sick when you possessed me that time. But telekinesis just... _is_. It's something you either can or can't do.”

“Can you do it?” Shiro asked, intrigued.

Lance shook his head, “No.”

“I can,” Allura said, looking a little smug.

“'Aight, toots it's not a competition,” Lance rolled his eyes. “So. Yeah. Is it just a power Galrans have access to that Alteans and every other bloodline out there can't?”

“Maybe,” Keith nodded, looking excited. It must be nice, Shiro thought to himself, for Keith to finally meet people who could understand him and accept him for who he was. For even if he'd told Shiro back when he was alive, he wouldn't have been able to fully empathise. Lance and Allura can give him that, and it made a comfortable warmth curl though Shiro's chest seeing Keith with people who could truly relate, even if he wasn't directly a part of it.

It was comparable to the feeling of hearing his husband's raucous laugh, even if Shiro didn't tell the joke. Keith's happiness made him happy.

“I never did it often enough to properly figure anything out,” Keith continued. “The few times I gave it a proper go never ended well. Mam pretty much banned me from it when I burned down the bin in the park.”

“That was _you_?” Shiro laughed. He must have been around thirteen when gossip swirled through their small town, blame being shoved onto any and all kids in the neighbourhood who looked faintly suspect. “They put a curfew on anyone under sixteen for a year after that!”

Lance grinned at Keith who returned the smile in kind, “I _knew_ you were my kind of person.”

“ _This_ idiot once flooded our entire house when he was figuring out his water channelling,” Allura said in a long-suffering voice. “Then passed out! He hadn't quite figured out the logistics of how much energy exchange was too much. I found him before he drowned in his own mistakes, though, so I suppose all's well ends well.”

Shiro laughed, shaking his head. He realised, for the first time in a while, they were just enjoying each other's company instead of being stuck ruminating aloud about depressing topics.

It was nice, to just be friends without impending doom looming over their heads.

“Are you at work tomorrow?” Lance asked Shiro suddenly.

“He's not,” Keith answered for him.

“Tuesdays and weekends are my off days,” Shiro explained.

“You only work four days a week?” Allura asked, surprised.

Shiro glanced at Keith quickly. “It pays well enough and, uh, I went down a day after Keith died. It just kind of stuck.”

Lance clucked sympathetically, then jumped to his feet with more energy than Shiro had seen him with all night. He meandered over to one of their glass cabinets and pulled out an unlabelled bottle of lurid blue. It looked suspect, and Shiro really wasn't sure if he wanted to drink it.

“We're drinking!” Lance sang.

Looks like he didn't have a choice.

“Ah, yes, I can't wait,” Keith said sarcastically, and Lance just stuck his tongue out at him before pulling down four glasses.

“I think he was joking, Lance,” said Allura.

“I'm only being polite. It's like leaving flowers on your grave,” Lance shot him a crooked smile, placing a glass in front of him.

“Or a coffee in my shrine,” Keith murmured, looking at the drink with a soft expression. Shiro startled, realising the striking similarity between their actions and Lance didn't even know it. After the first day with Keith back, when Shiro didn't make a second coffee, it felt unnatural so he began making it again. Keith hadn't said anything on their second morning back together, when Shiro set a steaming mug in front of him, but he kept catching him looking at it with a smile even as it went cold as the minutes ticked by.

If Lance heard Keith's words, he didn't comment on them.

“Wanna see something _cool_?” he asked slyly, flicking a coy look up at Shiro, who just nodded in bewilderment.

“ _Lance_ ,” Allura huffed out on an exasperated rush of laughter.

At the same moment, with an elegant twist of his fingers, Lance created a handful of ice cubes out of thin air and Keith snorted when the joke hit him.

Not one to be outdone, Allura leaned forward and with a clever jerk of her wrist the ice floated out of Lance's palm and plinked into their glasses musically. She leaned back in her chair, smirking as her own drink lifted off the table and into her hand. Tipping it up slightly, she said a quick, “Cheers boys,” before taking a sip.

“Man, that was awesome,” Keith sighed and Shiro was inclined to agree. Being friends with witches certainly did have its perks. “What even is this crap anyway?”

“Altean vodka, home brewed,” Lance said cheerfully, and he swallowed a worryingly large mouthful, not even flinching.

 _Terrifying_ , Shiro thought to himself, _Actually terrifying._

He eyed up his drink with newfound suspicion. “So moonshine, basically.”

“Not moonshine,” Allura laughed. “Don't look so scared, just try it.”

“Yeah, babe, just _try_ it,” Keith snickered.

Hesitantly, Shiro let the drink touch his lips briefly and chased the flavour on them with his tongue. He bit out out surprised sound when a strange sweetness filled his mouth, almost like gooseberry but... not. He couldn't even taste the alcohol in it, which was worrying honestly. There was nothing more potent than a drink that didn't taste like it would get you drunk.

“Good, right?” Lance said excitedly. “Allura makes it herself. We sold it to this witch from Leeds last year after he begged us for it. He hasn't spoken to us since, mind!”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Shiro shook his head, but drank some more anyway. “What's it even made from?”

“Oh, you know,” Allura drawled, smiling wickedly, “A hair from Coran's moustache, eye of newt, bat wings. Standard ingredients.”

“Please tell me you're joking.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” she said. “I'd never use eyes or wings in my vodka.”

Keith laughed loudly as Shiro mocked spitting it out onto the floor before chuckling and leaning back into the cushions.

The events of the day still weighed down on him heavily, but as amicable chatter from the people in front of him filled his ears, the strain of it was eased a little.

He cast his mind back to the mirrored looks of shock on Keith and Lancewhen they'd touched, mulling it over. There were feelings blooming in his chest that were large and unnamed and becoming too big for his body. It was confusing, and they frightened him a little because he – and he wasn't sure if he should even mention it to Keith for fear of sparking concern – hadn't felt like this since he realised he wanted Keith in a way that inched over the line of friendship back when they were teenagers.

But he'd only known Lance for a couple of weeks, and it seemed impossible that he could be attracted to him after knowing him for such a small amount of time. It had taken years for he and Keith to develop their relationship, and years after that to keep it afloat through everything they went through – Keith's mother walking out, his father passing, Shiro's mother passing, and even when he was called to war. It felt wrong, like he was throwing all of that hard work straight in the bin just because he fancied some guy he'd met by chance.

Lance wasn't just _some guy_. He was a friend now, and a damned loyal one at that. And after the way he'd shared a part of himself, albeit reluctantly, with them today Shiro found he returned that loyalty tenfold.

Shiro loved Keith. He loved him with every fibre of his being.

But he would be a fool not to admit to the budding attraction he felt towards Lance, and that scared him. He felt like he was betraying Keith by it, in the same breath as feeling it grow whenever he saw Keith and Lance swap banter and smiles and laughter in front of him. He wanted to know if he was imagining the way they looked at each other sometimes, the way he caught Lance looking at himself.

What did it mean? To want someone, but to want the love of your life to want them as well?

There was something in the way Keith's gaze tracked Lance, even now as they laughed good naturedly while he acted out some strange story about his interactions with a overly friendly witch years ago. A quiet intensity that was almost predatory despite the goofy smile on his face.

That strange curiosity burned brighter in Shiro, then.

Maybe this whole shitshow of confusing emotions was because he was unused to seeing that expression on Keith's face. He would never be aware when that single-minded concentration was directed towards him, after all, because that look was the kind you wore when you were stealing glances in secret.

It didn't explain his own attraction, so that theory went out the window. It didn't explain the wanting that came when he watched Keith watching Lance. He realised, belatedly, that he _wanted_ to see Keith slyly check Lance out which was fucking _wild_.

Shiro had always been led to believe that he needed one person to complete the other half of him, and while he never felt like something was missing in his life... Lance just fit, like the corner piece of a jigsaw. You don't need it to see the whole picture, but it certainly made it feel more satisfying.

Allura fit in there somewhere, too. But not in the same way. There was no doubting that she was beautiful, of course. It was just Lance,with all his crooked smiles, bright blue eyes and sharp features; one of his thin brows seemed to be constantly arched, a faint lopsided twist to his lips like he was laughing at a joke nobody else understood... It sent something warm curling through Shiro's gut.

Maybe that was just the alcohol talking, because before Shiro knew it he'd sipped his way down to the bottom of his glass in all his brooding.

“Woah,” Lance laughed, arching a thin brow at him. “Enjoyed that, didn't we?”

He sat back down opposite Shiro, and poured him another measure. The ice he'd created for him still hadn't melted, and Shiro wondered dumbly if magic ice was special in some way.

 _Clues in the name you numpty._ Magic _ice._

“Is that hitting you hard or something?” Keith asked quietly, smiling at him when Lance and Allura started loudly talking about something that went totally over their heads. “You're awfully quiet.”

“Mm, must be,” Shiro shrugged. He flushed when Keith's gaze lingered on him, eyes narrowed before looking away when he didn't find what he was searching for on Shiro's face. He wanted to say something, now he was filled with – aptly named – liquid confidence but didn't know what good it would do. Keith was incorporeal, save for brief moments, and couldn't touch anyone so what good would it do entertaining the possibility that Lance could want them back, together?

He would just have to let it go, let the feelings pass as time went on because he didn't even know if Keith felt the same way as him. If he didn't, there was no way Shiro would _ever_ think about exploring them.

Self-doubt niggled at him, irritating and incessant.

“ _Christ_ , this stuff is strong,” he huffed out finally, and Allura just giggled with blasé waft of her hand.

“You can kip on the sofa tonight, if you like?” she offered.

“Nah, I'm not _that_ drunk. I can make it home. Besides, if I fall over and end up asleep in a ditch I'm sure Keith will come and tell you about it,” he said, and Lance laughed alongside Keith in response.

“Allura will have to be the one to carry you, though,” Lance said. “Have you seen how weedy my arms are?”

“They not as bad as mine,” Keith grumped. “I would have gone to the gym and decked up a bit if I knew I'd spend my afterlife looking like a toothpick!”

“I dunno, man, I've heard that _exorcising_ regularly can help spirits bulk up,” Lance said casually.

“Oh, you did _not_!” Keith exclaimed, fighting against a smile to keep his expression pissy.

“Shiro loves you no matter how much of a skinny thing you are,” Allura cooed, looking like she thought they were the cutest thing in the world. “Finding love after death – there's something quite poetic about it.”

Shiro hummed thoughtfully, while Keith mostly just looked affronted. It was. Poetic, that is, in a way, that their love would defy the grave.

“I wonder if Haggar knew she was doing us a _favour_ when she did this,” Keith muttered.

“Well, I mean Anchor-Spirit spells aren't the only – ” Lance cut himself off with wide eyes, and looked over to the wall-to-wall bookshelf before whispering so quietly that Shiro had to strain for it, “I wonder...”

“What's this?” Keith asked, bemused.

Blinking, Lance turned back to the three of them with a smile that wasn't quite forced, but it was close. “Nothing. Yet. _Anyway_ , alright, you two, get out then before you sup us outta house and home!” Lance said, a little too brightly. He clapped a hand on Shiro's shoulder, and tried to do the same to Keith. He had a calculating look in his eye as he did it, but it quickly gave way to an apologetic smile when his hand passed through him and onto the back of the sofa with a low _thud_. “Worth a try,” he said with a shrug before hauling Shiro to his feet.

Something seemed to come to life in Lance, then. He didn't seem liked he'd had two stiff glasses of illegally high content vodka, and he almost rushed them out of the door before practically slamming it in their faces.

“What was all that about?” Shiro said, bewildered as they were left in the cool air of the night.

“Fuck if I know,” Keith rolled his eyes, “I've stopped trying to figure out why Lance is... y'know. _Lance_.”

 

**

It didn't come as much of a surprise to Shiro when Matt called, asking him out for drinks after work that Wednesday. He found going out with Matt to be a welcome distraction, even if the beanie shoved haphazardly over his hair was making him overheat. Keith had elected not to stay at home, but to visit Lance and Allura instead. It made pride swell in his chest, that Keith was following up his promises with actions.

Matt was tense, and clearly needed this as much as Shiro did.

They had spent the weekend with their extended family, a yearly tradition since Sam, their father, died only three years ago. Matt's face bore the lines of grief, but the deep bruising under his eyes that made an appearance this time every year seemed lighter, as though he wasn't carrying the weight of his pain quite so hard now. It was a relief, and Shiro almost felt guilty for the fortune of his circumstances.

Matt was leaning against the bar, wearing one of those hideous slogan t-shirts he seemed to treasure. This one featured some coding joke in comic sans that Pidge probably bought him, but the meaning behind it went straight over Shiro's head.

He sipped at his beer, hazel eyes thoughtful as he stared at Shiro over the rim of his glass. They'd already muddled through the delicate topic of how his family were, if Pidge and his mother were feeling okay and now they were left in a silence that was uncharacteristic for the pair of them.

Shiro couldn't delve into the details of his life like he used to, given there seemed be an unspoken rule in this new world he lived in of 'What Humans Don't Need to Know, Won't Hurt Them.” He thought about how he could explain his new friendships.

“ _So! When my husband, who is now a ghost, came back to haunt me, I met a couple of witches who are both over two centuries old! Oh yeah, we've also managed to make an enemy of an even older witch whose doing magical experiments on me that may or may not be turning me into some kind of mutant shapeshifter!”_

“Your eyes are crossing you're thinking so hard,” Matt commented dryly, sipping at his beer. “What's got your knickers in a twist?”

“I might be a werewolf,” Shiro shrugged.

“Cool, dude. Let me know how that goes for you,” Matt nodded, before laughing. “Stop avoiding my questions whenever I ask them.”

“Just, uh, got a bit going on at the minute. Won't bore you with the details,” Shiro hedged.

Matt rolled his eyes so hard Shiro almost heard it. “Not bloody likely.”

“I made some new friends,” Shiro said carefully. “Met them by chance but they've ended up helping me, uh... look into Keith's family history.” Yeah. Cool. That sounded convincing enough.

“Oh,” Matt said quietly. If he was shocked about Shiro saying the K word, he hid it well. “How's that going?”

“It's enlightening to say the least.”

“Go on...”

“Well, my friends' families lived with Keith's ancestors we think. So that's pretty interesting.” He mentally willed Matt to stop asking questions about it, because he didn't think he could cobble together any decent tall tales for a cover up.

Matt didn't get the psychic memo. “That's so cool, man! How far back're we talking here?”

“Uhm, a few centuries.”

“Their family records must be in mint condition. I'd love to tag along with you sometime!”

“Maybe.”

“Wow don't sound too excited.”

“Sorry, sorry. It'd actually be kinda nice if you came to meet them. Remind them I actually have a life beyond the research we're doing,” Shiro smiled. “They're pretty _involved_ with it all.”

“Is it helping you?”

“Helping me what?”

“Like, move past it all,” Matt murmured, his voice hesitant.

Shiro blinked, surprised. “I'm working on it.”

“They must be doing something good for you,” he continued. “You're better than I've seen you since...”

“Since he died,” Shiro finished for him heavily, and that creeping guilt followed quick on the heels of his words. “It's okay now. You can say it. I don't want you to feel like – like you can't talk about him around me, y'know? You lost someone, too.”

“Okay,” Matt said simply. Then, a moment passed. “Oh, yeah! Pidge said you broke that frame for Keith's picture?” He fumbled around in his satchel for a minute before yanking out glass photoframe and holding it out for him, glasses sliding down his nose. “She found this in one of her drawers and said you would've forgotten to buy one so I should give it to you.”

“O – oh, thanks,” Shiro managed, taking the thing from him with shaking fingers. “That's kind of her.”

“You totally forgot, didn't you?”

“I may have.”

“How deep in this family project are you?” Matt laughed, shaking his head.

_Oh, if only you knew._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please consider leaving kudos/comment if you enjoyed reading! 
> 
> I will get this finished eventually but updates will likely continue to be slow! thank you for your patience! x  
> you can find me on my tumblr at [eatjamfast](http://eatjamfast.tumblr.com/)  
> also u can see my pinterest board for the fic [here](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/cosycait/b3p-writing-insp/) if you interested in the kind of vibe im trying to create :--)  
> aaaand as always, here is the snippet for next post:
> 
>  
> 
> **Chapter Five: Alone in the valley of death**
> 
>    
>  _“Takashi, run! JUST FUCKING RUN!” Keith yelled, leaning over him, imploring, before whipping his head around to look at the man – no, the creature – in the corner._  
>  A hooded figure was huddled in the corner of their bedroom, cloak obscuring its face.  
> The air around it seemed to vibrate with an intensity that set Shiro's teeth on edge, and he found himself frozen in terror. He could tell it was staring at him.  
> There was no doubt in his mind that this? This was a druid.


End file.
